Unmapped Temperament
by ANOVA Normal
Summary: A new threat enters the game and Harry finds himself surrounded and chased by all sides. The Order is scattered and Harry is on the run. He must rally all his wits to survive. Without the support Harry once relied on, he must find in himself the temper to fight back, alone if need be. Attempting an international thriller. Slow start. Eventually Harry/Fleur
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter**

* * *

**Prologue**

Harry Potter cringed under the weight of his cousin as the two were limping back to Number 4 Privet Drive, only one of them half-lucid. The smaller boy was clammy, the twin terrors of five minutes ago causing a fearful cold sweat as they limped their way back.

The silver stag in a great charge had banished the shadowy forms before crumpling into the darkening night. Strangely, Harry felt no safer and no warmer than before. There was an unwholesome feeling that night. His eyes darted about and his breath shallowed waiting for some new demon.

_What are Dementors doing here?_ Harry could only wonder as he tried to maneuver Dudley's larger frame towards his summer prison. _Oh boy, uncle Vernon's going to give me a mouthful. Dudley won't be stable enough to argue my case…then again I doubt he would do it anyway. So…I'm in deep shit._

"Quit whimpering Dudley," Harry whispered quietly, casting another glance over his shoulder. _How many more of those things are out there?_ "I had to save your ass, back there, didn't I? Guess you owe me one." Harry took another glance at his cousin, reduced to a pale clammy child. "Guess you won't remember anyway. Whatever. Come on cousin."

"_Dao Shen_!" came the cry from behind.

Harry felt Dudley fly off his feet. Harry went flying with him. The night was dark, very dark in fact. Harry hadn't noticed the dimmed lights or the clouded moon and stars until a moment ago. His back flared in pain and something sticky and unwelcoming covered his arm. He groaned as his cousin's weight held him down. It still hadn't registered in him. He was under attack.

Again.

"Dudley, get…off!" Harry heaved the older boy's heavy frame off his own.

And in his horror, even in the great darkness Harry saw, Dudley staring at him with dead eyes – a fist size hole through his abdomen. Harry looked at himself, covered in the blood of his cousin. _Dudley?_

And then it hit him at last. "Jesus!" he yelled, scrambling as he could, away from the corpse.

His crazed panic would not register with his legs. He toppled over again, some feet from his cousin, sheer terror gripping him like an iron vice in the dark. He went for his wand in his back pocket. He grabbed one end and then his heart stopped.

His wand had snapped on his fall. He was defenseless. Within nothing left to him but his eyes, he scanned the darkness tentatively, expecting a flash of green or worse to come flying at him. For a moment nothing was afoot. He hardly breathed and every inch of him to his eyes trembled in anticipation. Demons were lurking just beyond his sight. He could not see them. But the dread in his gut made him all too sure they could see him. This was not a natural darkness. He had been blinded in the night, commanding no more sight than a few feet beyond him. He desired both to stay with Dudley and to flee from his corpse. He tried to wipe Dudley's blood off his arm. It unnerved him nearly as much as the unknown threat in the shadows. Harry gulped hard, slowly moving backwards. Then there was an unmistakable crack and then flashes of blue and orange some feet away. Someone else had come. _Another enemy?_ Harry didn't bother to check which it was. He scrambled to his feet, and flew faster than he had ever run. He sped by his cousin, now leaking blood in nauseating quantities. Harry spared his fallen cousin one last passing glance. He doubted he would ever see him again, and it was not a pleasant final memory to depart with.

"Shit!" cursed Harry as he found his way in the dark to his summer prison, now perhaps his only sanctuary. He stampeded across the well-maintained lawn, flushed green and undoubtedly the pride of the house. In the morning Harry's uncle might be furious. But Harry wasn't so sure he could afford to think about tomorrow. He flung himself in the door, crashing into a nearby vase. It's loud toppling brought out his uncle Vernon and aunt Petunia.

"What the bloody hell?" roared the large man, already reddening in the face while his wife stood and scowled with disdain and slight fear.

"Dudley!" Harry managed to choke out between his pants, more from the shock than the run. "Dudley's back there!"

"What the hell are you talking about," Vernon growled, pulling up Harry by the arm less than delicately.

"He's…hurt!" roared Harry, finding his breath.

Vernon's eyes were drawn to Harry's left arm, caked red in blood. Harry shuddered to think what his uncle's reaction would have been if he had known it was Dudley's blood. Still a look of utter despair crossed his uncle's face. "Stay there Petunia!" he cried, shoving his way past Harry, out into the darkness, growing paler now.

Harry was left panting and shaking in the foyer. _What the fuck?_ His aunt was trembling near the stairs. He felt a pool of guilt well within him. Her son was dead. Did he have the heart to tell her? The answer was a resounding no. These three had been the torment of his early life – and in their eyes he was the torment of their otherwise normal lives. They hated each other. But even still, Harry couldn't imagine breaking Dudley's death to her. And doing so while covered in her son's blood. _That would be in bad taste._

_I don't have a wand anymore. Voldemort isn't wasting any time is he? Christ…can he get in here? I gotta get help_.

Then Harry realized how futile his situation was. He had no way of contacting the outside world. His nearest allies were miles upon miles away. Hedwig would never make it, not if Voldemort was just a couple blocks away. He had no Floo powder. He had no portkey. _I don't have a goddamn wand! Damn it, I can't afford to just wait here for Voldemort!_

Harry briefly considered his broom. Then he cursed again. _If Voldemort's out there, maybe I'm still safer in the house. And who was the one who just apparated?_

Panic sheared through his nerves while he pondered his next moves. Suddenly a letter came flying through the opened door, absent of a carrier owl. Harry snatched the letter, quickly closing the door and locking it firmly.

He held the letter like a lifeline – now his only connection to the magical world. He ripped it open and a tiny thin piece of paper fell out. It looked to be some cheap office note. He read the sparse words. In those split seconds he wondered who had written to him. Was it the Ministry of Magic alerted to his Patronus? Were they sending men for his wand? _Joke's on them. They'll get Voldemort and my already broken wand._ Was it Dumbledore? Had he somehow known about the attack? Was it the Weasley's? Mrs. Weasley had talked last year about setting up a clock for Harry. But the letter was none of those things. It was not signed.

_**Run**__._

Harry didn't think twice. He barreled up the stairs, frightening his poor aunt even further. Even after everything, he couldn't bear to look her in the eye. Soon she'd come to the realization that her beloved only son was dead and the delinquent they had took in had fled into the night moments after. These bonds were dead, if ever they had lived. His door nearly rocked off the hinges as he exploded into his room.

"Fly Hedwig!" he shouted. "To…to the Burrow! Wait…no Hogwarts! Fly for Hogwarts! Get Dumbledore!"

The snowy owl hooted in alarm and then in protest. But the will of her master surged with intensity and she took the sky, now lit clearly with stars. Harry heard a large bang and saw more colorful flares of light. It shook him even as he stood and his panic grew with every second. He abandoned the packing of his suitcase. He paused only to grab his Invisibility Cloak, stuffing it into his pocket with all haste. He grabbed his broom. And then he heard his aunt shriek below him.

"The boy! Where is the boy!"

"Where's Dudley?" she screamed. "What have you done with-"

Harry heard a loud bang and felt the tremors as his aunt's body must have collapsed to the floor. _Shit, shit, shit! They're in the house! How are they in the house?_ Almost without thought, Harry chose his only option. He took a few steps back then exploded out of his window, glass shards cutting into his wrists deeply as he gripped his broom tightly. A moment went to free fall and then Harry heaved his weight upwards and took to the sky. He heard shouts within the house but he couldn't heed them any longer. He was speeding high to the moon. The moon had banished the clouds and now the sky was very bright, almost bearing shadows on Harry's flying form. Where once Harry could see nothing, now the whole world could spot him flying, if only they knew what to look for._ And Voldemort knows._

He flew. He flew hard and fast. The devil was on his heels and his only salvation was forward, forward with the speed of all the snitches in the world. Wind bit at him. The cold tore at his grip. But he couldn't let go. This was all he had. No suitcase, no money, no owl. _No wand!_ Pure adrenaline was taking over. Harry could hardly realize that his wand was broken. His wand was gone. If they caught him, there wouldn't be even the chance of a fight.

And so faster than he knew he possible, he flew. He gained altitude, climbing higher and higher, looking for the clouds to shield his visible form. But ever they seemed to roll back away from him, as if the sky itself was abetting his demise. He cursed loudly and took to different tactics, dipping as quickly as he could, not bothering to look for interlopers on his tail. He flew closer than he dared to the ground. Car horns and frightened screams and traffic lights past him as he left a mess in his wake for the Oblivator Office to handle. But his concerns were more current and violent. He didn't even know where he was going as long as it was as far away from Privet Drive as he could manage. His thoughts were consumed by only one thought embedded in his brain by the strange message.

_Run._

_Run, run, run._

So he did. Harry swore again. He was making a habit of that. And danger was making a habit of Harry Potter. The wind again tried to halt him as he could hardly feel his fingers or his face. Surrey was fading. He was almost free of the city. Wanting no part of Voldemort and his lackeys, he rose once more, the clouds finally submitting to their natural order. He flew into them and cried as the icy mist enveloped his body. Harry gritted his teeth and finally found the resolve to cast a glance behind him. He could see no one. Maybe he had lost them in the chase within Surrey.

How long had he been flying now? A couple minutes? An hour? Harry lost track of the time. He flew straight and he flew forward – he knew no other direction. The bitter cold was not kind to Harry. He was in only a t-shirt now drenched with a mixture of blood sweat and rain. He shivered dreadfully but refused thus far to waste any thought on things besides his imminent survival.

Harry reckoned a couple hours must have passed. Frost began to gather on his eyelashes and breathing became harder with the cold air. And then, dark shapes passed on the edges of his vision. Two, three, four and then more and more flew with him. Harry instinctively reached for his wand again. The painful realization was slowly seeping into him quicker than the cold was reaching his senses. There was nothing he could do. Harry shuddered and closed his eyes, wondering if anyone even knew he was about to die, hundreds and hundreds of feet in the sky. _At least I get to go with style._

"Harry!" came a cry. It was urgent and almost…feral. "Harry! It's okay!"

Harry opened his eyes to find Remus Lupin flying at his side. His old professor gave a grim smile but his eyes revealed the chaos at work. He reached out and grabbed Harry's shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. But Harry shivered at the touch.

"Professor Lupin?" he spoke, almost drowned out by the wind.

"We're here Harry!" Lupin shouted back. "We've got most of the Order we could get on short notice!"

"We?" Harry breathed, laboriously. "Order? Short-notice? What…Lupin what the hell is going on? My cousin…Jesus! Dudley's dead Lupin! He got cursed right next to me! And then they chased me back to Number 4."

"It's alright Harry!" he cried. "You're safe now. The second that curse fired, we had one of our best protecting you!"

"Lupin!" Harry shouted, now with more intensity and alarm. "They got in the house! They just walked through the door like it was nothing!"

Even amidst the heavy winds and cloudy sky Harry could see his old professor could not hide the disturbed look that crossed his face.

"We'll discuss this at Grimmauld!" he resolved to reply.

"What?"

"London Harry! We're making for London!"

"Remus!" cried a flier underneath Harry. "Give me Vance and let us double back to check on Moody!"

"No!" roared Remus, his voice fraught with terror. "Harry is the priority! We have to get him to headquarters!"

"Tonks is dying, Remus!" came the roar above Harry. "She's in real bad shape! If Death Eaters managed to get the better of her, who knows what might happen, even with Moody in the mix! Give us a couple fliers and will circle around and-"

His voice was cut short by a flash of light before the flier went tumbling from his broom, eyes beholding the bright white circle in the night sky, dead as dead could be. More flashes and more colors tore rivers into the blackness.

"By Merlin," cried Remus. "Form up! Everyone form up on Harry! We have to protect him! Hestia guard the rear! Dedalus and Podmore underneath! Vance break off and pick them off!"

Everyone was now flying with insanity clawing at their brains. Flashes whizzed by Harry who could do nothing but press his form deeper into his broom and fly. _And run_. A scream tore through the air. Harry turned to see the wizard named Dedalus fall from his broom, a stream of blood following his descent.

_They're all dying…for me_.

"Dedalus is gone!" screamed the witch Hestia firing spells over her shoulder with a crooked oak wand. "Remus! We might have even lost Tonks and Moody on the ground!"

"Don't slow down!" bellowed Lupin. "We just got to hold out until Kingsley comes with the Rear Guard!"

Another one of the fliers in Harry's company fell away, screaming all the way down until the wind drowned out the cries. Harry wanted to scream. How was this all happening? Who were all these people? Suddenly there was a flash behind Harry, so intense in its bright white light that even closed eyelids could not shut out the light. It surged like a ripple through the air, and knocked all in its path aside like children. Everyone was falling, everyone screaming. Harry could hear who he thought was Remus, bellowing from afar at him. Harry's own body was contorting in all ways, trying to stabilize himself. He had lost hold of his Firebolt, which was now tumbling away into the darkness without a rider. Somehow he righted himself until his back was to the ground and himself facing the sky.

No sooner than that did he find a black-gloved hand come crashing down on his throat and the face of his strangler inches from his.

"Secured!" cried the man, his fingers tightening around Harry's neck.

He could feel his brain screaming without oxygen. Harry flailed his arms desperately trying to knock the man off, but the grip was too tight and Harry was already slipping away.

_Oh god. I'm going to die. This is it. This is how I go out – hundreds of feet in the air, falling into the night. Damn it. I hope Remus makes it out and his order. Where were we going anyway? Grimmauld? Too late now I suppose…_

Desperation unlocked the faculties Harry was long unprepared for. He closed his eyes and yelled loudly as he could while being choked. And suddenly, the churning wind and the night sky and falling flyers all vanished at once before his eyes. He was now looking at thick grey clouds on his back beneath good earth. His breathing would not return to normal. For some minutes he laid there, still as death trying to recollect what was going on. He looked to his right, and found his would be killer impaled on a neat row of white-picketed fences. The blood was dripping down and Harry turned away in disgust.

_What the hell just happened_? Thoughts of that sort and others with less coherence and more profanity plagued Harry's mind. How had he got here? He was just falling outside of Surrey moments ago! He struggled to his feet, not before grabbing the wand of the fallen wizard. The wizard was holding it in a death grip. _Huh, I suppose that could have been almost funny._

Harry pulled hard and the whole body fell from the fence. Harry got the first good look at his attacker, now unmasked. Harry didn't recognize him from anything. He made to leave but then stopped suddenly. Slowly, he lifted up the sleeve of his attacker, caked in blood. Harry's heart leapt a beat. There was no Dark Mark. _Who are these people?_

"Shit!" he cursed again. _I gotta get out of sight! I gotta get to Hogwarts…or the Burrow…or this Grimmauld thing."_

He found his Invisibility cloak miraculously still in his pocket. He veiled himself in it as quickly as he could, never letting go of this new wand. He was on a street corner, one he had never seen before, all about him neat rows of houses lined in perfection. He looked up at the street sign.

"Grimmauld?" he read in shock. "Now I'm confused."

Now covered from prying eyes, he walked down the street, marking each house carefully. _Remus spoke of headquarters. Whatever this Order thing is, they're a better bet for me than the other ones._

Frustration and delirious fear crept into the forefront of his mind. He swore again, taking out the mysterious letter that had appeared to him moments before the home invasion.

The words had changed. Neatly were the words scribbled down.

_**If you're still alive, run.**_

"Give me something else!" Harry whispered as quietly as he could.

The letters changed again.

_**Anywhere you think to go, they know. Do not stop running. Do not stay in Britain. Do not go to France. Do not stop running.**_

The letters ceased and froze, not heeding the will and orders of Harry. He stuffed the letter back into his pocket. _What am I suppose to do? Where am I supposed to go? Where is Dumbledore?_

Another crack caused Harry to jump terribly. He looked around wildly but could see no one. And then he just barely spotted the wavering in the air, the slight sign that there was something off. And he gasped as he saw that the waver in the air constituted and formed a human form, moving slowly. The body was taking the texture of its surroundings. But the dripping blood was not. With a white fury that appeared from nowhere, Harry approached, wand drawn and rage in his eyes. With a cry, he bellowed out a stunner spell.

The wavering figure was sent sprawling backwards, a soft feminine cry of pain escaping into the night. The spell whatever it was began to recede before Harry saw only a witch in bloodied robes sprawled on the floor. Her wounds were deep and bleeding furiously but Harry was drawn to her hair, jet black, blacker still than the dark of the night. It began to change rapidly into any and all colors. Harry paused for a moment and then let fall his invisibility cloak, revealing himself to this woman.

He knelt and seized her by the collar, his new wand now at her throat.

"Who the hell are you and what do you want with me?" Harry snarled. "You've already killed a lot of people who were trying to help me. You tell me who you are right now or I paint the _fucking_ _pavement_ with your brains!"

The woman's hair changed again, now a temperamental blue. "Harry Potter? What the hell are you doing here?" she breathed, alarmed and confused

Harry's grip on his wand tightened and he pressed it more forcefully at her throat. "Why are you trying to kill me?"

The woman threw up her hands in surrender. "Harry, it's alright, I was sent to protect you!"

Harry's hand went from her collar to her throat and his wand rested above her eyes. "Is that your best?"

"I'm telling the truth!" the woman snapped weakly, her hair changing now to green. "Dumbledore sent me!"

"Everyone thinks they can just drop Dumbledore's name and I'll just blindly go along," Harry snarled again. "I won't ask you again, woman."

"I'm Nymphadora Tonks!" she spoke, now fearful. "I was in the advanced guard charged with rescuing you! I was the first damn one on the scene! I saved your bloody life, Potter, and at no small expense to my own."

Harry noticed her wounds, though she hardly gave up a wince. He had recalled Lupin mentioning some name that sounded vaguely similar. He eased up, for just a moment. The moment slowed before his eyes. As fast as the blink of an eye, the vulnerable look on the Auror's face snapped into cold determination. She moved her head out of the wand's aim. She bent her left leg and brought her knee smashing upwards. Harry doubled over in excruciating pain, a loud moan escaping his lips. The Auror then brought her right hand up to Harry's nose and sent him off her in a heap. She leapt to her feet, grabbing his wand in the process.

"Look Harry, I'll prove it to you later but now we have far more important matters to attend to," the woman stated, brushing herself off. Harry could only glare. He doubted he could stand at the moment and he touched his nose tenderly. _Now that was painful_.

She looked around them. "Where are the others?" Her voice was now cracking with panic. "The others that were with you, where are they?"

Harry was beginning to let up. If he didn't, his nerves would probably end up cursing this lady to death. "There are no others," he spat. "They attacked us in the air."

Her face and hair paled at the sight. "Merlin, what the hell." She ran a bloodied hand through her hair but it strangely did not seem to leave any trace on her hair. "This whole operation is fucked."

Harry looked around expectantly. He panted hard, trying to recover from the blow. "Fine, listen, um, Nymphador-"

"Tonks," she responded heatedly. "My name is Tonks."

"Whatever," he snapped. "Who are these people?"

"Hell if I know," muttered Tonks. "They're not Death Eaters, that's for sure. They were using all kinds of…foreign magic. I've never seen spells like that. They nearly killed me. In fact they would definitely have killed me if not for Moody."

"Moody?" Harry demanded. "Alastor Moody? Professor Moody?"

The woman Tonks laughed wryly and held her ribs painfully. "Yeah, I heard he had the gig for a while last year. Damn, I've never seen Moody pushed like that before. He was throwing up spells the Academy never even dared to show us. I don't know if he even made it out. And now you're saying they got us in the air too? Merlin, we've to contact Dumbledore."

"Wait," Harry spoke suddenly. "The Academy? The Auror Academy? These guys managed to fight off _people whose only job is to fight Dark Wizards_?"

"Yeah I suck at my job, what else you got?" snapped Tonks, despite her injuries. "Last I saw was your little ass running away while I had to deal with two killers on my own before Moody showed up."

Harry made to speak again before Tonks gasped in alarm. Both of them turned and saw the night sky, now lit brightly with a ball of golden hue, not unlike the sun in all its fury and power. It descended upon them, screaming through the sky with complete authority. Harry saw the woman snap her gaze momentarily to the small gap between houses 11 and 13. The tiny sun gave them no more time to ponder.

Tonks spun back to Harry, grabbing his arm forcefully. Harry still couldn't manage to see how she had so much strength after losing blood by the pint. Together they hobbled with all the speed they could manage, away from the row of houses. It was difficult with Harry grasping at the strange woman, who either from deliriousness of pain or failure of coordination, managed to consistently stumble and lose her footing.

He didn't look back – there was nothing of interest back at the row of houses anyway. However Tonks did looked back, several times and each successive time with a greater look of dread across her face. The sun soared over their heads, and in an instant released all its energy across the rows of houses once standing proud. It's sound was deafening, dwarfing even the most ruthless of thunders. The sound howled as from the maws of the earth. Upon release, for but a moment, the sky was painted gold. Shimmering it stood hanging as a ceiling of purity while the shadows of the world screamed and died. And Harry blinked and the gold sky vanished and with it, came the wave of energy that surged all around and lifted him off his feet. For the second time from some unknown attack he was sent flying, this time face first into pavement.

His vision watered and his face was struck with pain. He grasped his face tenderly, blood seeping from his nose at alarming proportions. _It's probably broken._

He saw that Nymphadora lady struggling to get to her feet, some yards away. The ringing held his ear's attention for quite some time and it was all he could think about, though in the moments that followed, coherent thoughts were far and few between. He looked at the woman again and saw her return his gaze.

"Headquarters is compromised. We've got to get you somewhere safe… we should-"

There were quick unusual sounds in the wind, sounds that even with the ringing, Harry could identify as brooms. Knowing naught else to do, Harry grabbed the invisibility cloak, pushing Tonks to the grassy lawn and covering the pair of them. Through his cloak he saw a gathering of two fliers, masked and dangerous.

"Where are we?" one asked.

"One of the fliers, the werewolf, said they were headed for some Grimmauld thing in London. This matches the description. Whatever concealment they were using, likely Fidelius, couldn't withstand Dai Ren. Wherever they were headed, its nothing but ash now – whether we can see it or not."

Harry felt Tonks' body go rigid upon hearing this.

"We capture anyone?"

"Deng had the boy. Damn it, we _fucking had him_. We were never told he knew how to fucking apparate!"

"He's not lost us yet. We've got men at the probable locations. We're tracking the boy's owl. We'll see where it takes us. And another location is likely Hogwarts."

"Well we also lost the surviving fliers. Another wing from the boy's guard came up on us from behind. Lost Lam and Ming to that black one then the crazy stumpy one on the ground took down Liang and gave me a solid thrashing before I put him down."

"Contact the mediator. Tell her to report to Shanghai that we are still in pursuit."

Harry's fist tightened, a wild thought of leaping from the grassy knoll and cursing as many as he could. He felt the hand of Tonks, caked in her own blood, stop him. She shook her head slightly even as her eyes flashed in dangerous ire. He turned back to the conversation, and found all the men were silent. They were looking at something, a particular spot on the pavement.

_They're looking at Tonks' blood!_

Harry saw one of them slowly turn his gaze towards where they were laying. Before he could utter a word, Tonks had grabbed a firm hold of Harry's shoulder. Then again for the second time in that night, the scene before Harry's eyes vanished. Harry blinked and his world was replaced with an entirely different one. _What is going on?_

Tonks was lying beside him but she seemed quite preoccupied at the moment. Her wand moved in mesmerizing patterns as she spat out words in great pain. Harry watched as the gashes in her side began to mend and the large bruises and lacerations began to shrink and heal. She grimaced and squirmed in discomfort. With the same motion Harry's nose seemed to right itself and blood trickled out of it at a dying rate. Her hand fished into her pocket, retrieving a red vial which she drank quickly, and gave a satisfying sigh. Harry looked about. They were in a small meadow picketed all about by tall standing trees with low hanging branches. Strange to the season, the leaves were already beginning to yellow. It seemed as good a place as any to rest for a while. Mating calls of crickets filled the air and there was little movement in the small lake before them. Tall grass rose to their shoulders where they sat. Harry looked about, bewildered.

"Did we…did we just apparate?"

"Yup," grimaced Tonks, touching her wounds gingerly. "Though it appears you're not exactly unfamiliar with it."

"I don't know what I did," Harry responded instantly. "I was falling one second and then lying on the ground another."

"That's usually how it works," Tonks sighed. "But usually with more screaming and you don't get up after hitting the ground."

"Oh, you're a fucking riot!" snapped Harry.

"I try."

There was a silence filled by the crickets. Harry looked at the woman.

"Nymphadora-"

"I said my name is Tonks," she interjected heatedly.

"Whatever!" snapped Harry.

"What are we going to do?" he asked her quietly. "They're going to find the Burrow! And we can't go to Hogwarts, and your headquarters place is out of the question."

"They killed Moody," spoke Tonks, hollowly. "And they killed some of the advanced guard. And they nearly killed me. Whoever these people are, they're dangerous…to dangerous to be taken lightly. Well at least that little conversation in front of Grimmauld gave us some information."

"And what's that?" Harry asked.

Tonks looked back at Harry, half playfully, half pensively. "You're on the international stage now, Harry Potter. The Chinese are after you."

* * *

"We lost the boy," hissed a voice in a tall upright mirror. "He had a protection detail – the one Shanghai warned us about. But we didn't think they'd be able to respond as quickly as they did. I trust you will relay to Shanghai that we are still in pursuit."

"It will be done," came the curt feminine reply.

"We used Dai Ren to level his allies' base of operations. I suppose Chang will want to give me an earful on that one. We lost three men – all their bodies are accounted for. I assume things went more smoothly on your end?"

"All the right people from Wizengamot got their gold and did their duty," was her reply. "There was no overruling but it was close though. I suppose even in disgrace Dumbledore's opinion still carries some sway in the court."

"Good. I have another assignment for you. We're still piecing together the details over here. We will be in touch soon. Relay all this to Shanghai. And don't forget what happens if you don't."

There was a pregnant pause. "I understand," she replied coldly.

* * *

Tonks only made a few feet before Harry chased after her, a bombardment of questions ready on his tongue. She spared him no second glance but her wand was out and she scanned the area with professional thoroughness. Harry looked about as well. He still had no idea where they were.

"Why would the Chinese be after me?" demanded Harry, bridled by mysteries. "I didn't even know the Chinese had…you know…magic."

"Did you ever pay attention in school?" scoffed Tonks as she continued walking. "The Chinese are the first and preeminent civilization to understand and use magic. They're mastery of it surpasses even the brightest minds of the West. Your magical history classes at Hogwarts must have taught you at least that."

"I still don't get why they're after me!" pressed Harry, ignoring the slight. "I've never even met a Chinese wizard before."

"Those weren't just Chinese wizards, Harry," Tonks spoke. "The violent magic they used, all dynamic fundamentals, impeccable English and ancient dueling style…no those were far from ordinary wizards, even by Far East standards. I'm no expert, but I'd say those fellows are from the Triads."

"This is insane," Harry muttered. "Completely insane! We just gotta find our way to the Burrow and then Dumbledore-"

"Weren't you listening?" Tonks snapped. "The Chinese are dogging your footsteps! I don't know what the hell these Triads want but they are well informed. How long do you think it'll take for them to connect you to your dear Weasley pal? Do you want to endanger him as well by leading them to the Burrow?"

Harry opened and closed his mouth stupidly. "But then Dumbledore-"

"Dumbledore is likely doing everything he can to protect you and clean up the mess you left at Privet Drive," Tonks chastised. "Or do you forget the murder scene you left behind there?"

"Murder…"

"Your cousin Harry," Tonks said softly. "He got hit with a very old and foreign technique from the dark arts. Of course dear old mom is saying you murdered your cousin and fled the scene. It helps that they have two furious and eager testaments of the boy's parents. And like it or not, even for the most reasonable people, the events were too suspicious to turn a blind eye to you."

"Jesus…" Harry muttered to himself. "This is all falling to pieces."

"It already has," agreed Tonks, "which is why we got to find these Triads."

"Shouldn't we get Dumbledore or-"

Tonks snapped. "Listen to me, we are _not_ going to implicate this nation's best hope into this messy affair. Dumbledore is out of the question. When…or better yet _if_ Dumbledore finds it safe to contact us he will. We'd jeopardize him too much if we went to him with unknown eyes prying at our business."

"So you're saying it's just you and me," Harry stated flatly, though panic boiled beneath his voice.

"Don't sound so glum," Tonks smirked sarcastically. "I'm a professional dark wizard catcher. I'm versed in all manner of combat, counter-espionage, defensive warding…and – and stealth of course. And you…well I suppose you can cast a decent Patronus charm."

"I know more spells than a Patronus!" he retorted heatedly.

The smirk widened on the Auror's face. She grabbed the wand from her pocket and tossed in back to Harry. "Yeah? Okay, show me. Hit me with your best shot." She spread her arms and made herself a wide target in front of Harry.

Harry hesitated but the smirk on the woman's face goaded him on, ignoring the fact the wand wasn't his own and it felt foreign and strange to the touch. There was also the matter of his tender scrotum he had to settle. He lifted the strange wand.

"Stupefy!"

The beam of red light sped towards Tonks. She spun with a great deal of grace. The red beam slowed until it suspended at the tip of her wand. When she had spun round, she snapped the wand at Harry, sending his spell back at him. It struck him in the shoulder, sending him flying backwards into the water.

"We call that a perfect counter," laughed Tonks as Harry furiously got out of the lake, drenched in fouler things than swamp water. "I'm impressed though, that you are even able to cast a spell with a borrowed wand. I suppose Remus must have taught you something after all."

Harry attempted several more curses, exhausting his personal library of spells, which now seemed embarrassingly limited and…rudimentary. _Damn this woman_. Each an every time, Tonks would dance and pirouette with more grace than she seemed capable of and returned Harry's spells to him, some which he was able to block – others which hit him with reduced force. Finally he collapsed to his knees, seething in frustration.

Harry said nothing but glared at her indignantly.

"Oh, wipe that scowl off your face," Tonks brushed off casually. "If looks could kill I'd sure know about it by now."

"Anyone ever tell you you're full of yourself?" Harry muttered, trying to rid himself of the discomfort of wet clothes.

"Plenty," said Tonks. "Though I still haven't found anyone who is quicker at the draw than me…besides Moody anyway."

She went quiet for a moment, looking at her feet, and her back to Harry. Before his curiosity could even begin to spark, such a moment of reflectiveness ended abruptly. She turned to him, muttering something under her breath. His clothes became instantly dry, much to his relief. He hesitated to thank her, his pride still reeling from her unrelenting blows.

"Confidence and arrogance are two very different things, love," Tonks winked at him. "One is the faculty of the competent, the other the design of the fool."

"Great," Harry snapped. "On top of being a second-rate Auror, you're a second-rate philosopher."

He brushed past her – his face still blushed with indignation. "Where are we anyway?" he grumbled after some time.

"Godric's Hollow," Tonks replied, seemingly not bothered by his comments. "I think we're about, a good mile away. The Order has a last ditch safe-house we are to converge on if headquarters is compromised."

"Then we'll finally get some answers," Harry spoke, not bothering to mask the frustration.

"Don't be so sure," Tonks replied darkly. "To have broken through the Fidelius Charm…even in a very general area…that's no small feat, let me tell you. I've certainly never heard of anyone – not even Voldemort – being able to do it. These guys have some crazy magic and must have resources to boot. If the Order is compromised, and I think it is, no one will show up. Either way, I'm going. It's been too long anyway."

Harry wasn't sure what this Auror lady meant by her last statement. He felt begrudgingly humbled and he stayed quiet, tucking the strange wand into his pocket – his front pocket this time. He resorted to following the bobbing mass of pink hair without complaint.

_That damn hair can be spotted miles away!_ Harry thought to himself. _Wait, why didn't I notice her hair before?_

But as they approached the town, as buildings emerged from distant dark shapes into structures of life and community, all resentment and fear washed out of Harry. And in its place, at the bottom of his stomach festered an unshakable anxiety. He felt wrong, out of place and more uncomfortable than he had felt in a long time. As they got closer, Harry watched in shock as Tonks somehow grew until she was taller than Harry. Her hair lengthened and fell to her elbows, taking on a golden hew. She turned around and winked playfully. Alarmed, Harry would have spoken if not for the added shock that she was somehow holding _his_ invisibility cloak. How had she gotten that?

Wordlessly now, she tossed it over him, placing her index finger against her lips in warning. Harry mastered his curiosity and nodded solemnly - vanishing from the eyes of all.

The night was receding and a budding morning was in its place. THE sleepy town was silent in the early hour. The small town couldn't have been larger than a few blocks of Privet Drive. As the pair stepped over some threshold into the town, the atmosphere grew quiet – but it was a natural silence as if it had always belonged. It smelled of rich pine. Fallen leaves danced about their feet to the rhythm of the wind and there was something strangely wholesome in the air. It was as if Godric's Hollow was part of the earth, as if it always belonged and had a place with the trees and under the sun. Such a humbling place and Harry doubted he'd ever wander on something quite like it again. All in all, the meek town was altogether right.

_So why do I feel so wrong here?_

Absent-mindedly, his pace began to quicken as he looked at the quiet town in strange curiosity and foreboding. How could he feel both rejuvenated and crushed in this place? He passed Tonks, to her ignorance however. The Invisibility cloak felt lighter than it ever had been.

_Godric's Hollow. Where do I know this place from…_

And in an instance, it came to him like a flash of green. His mother's screams, his father's last stand, the bellows of triumph from a Dark Lord, a starless night and all here – all in Godric's Hollow. Harry felt cold – how had he not realized it before? This was his birthplace – where his family had held him close for a year, giving him things he so longed to remember but never could. He understood now the nervousness that was creeping into him like a poison.

_This is where it all began. This is where it all went wrong._

Those thoughts echoed in Harry's mind for what seemed to be an eternity. He was rooted in place and shivering in his nostalgia – the lonely remnants of what could have been. The world would never be right for what happened here. Harry felt bile in his throat. He suddenly wished he'd never come here, he wished he'd never heard of this place, in fact he wished Godric's Hollow to vanish from the earth.

It was accursed, miserable and altogether wrong.

Suddenly Tonks ran into his stationary invisible form. She let out a breath of surprise and tripped in front of him. There was a visible sign of annoyance as she got back to her feet. Looking around, making sure no one was close by, she groped around her until she found Harry's arm – and punched it with surprising force.

"Where are you wandering off to?" she scolded. "Just follow me!"

"Nymphadora," Harry spoke slowly. "I…I was born here."

A well thought out insult died on the Auror's lips and she stared at the invisible boy solemnly. "Yeah."

She felt her way down to his hand, and grabbed it, pulling him along – looking utterly ridiculous to any onlookers. Tonks whispered softly now. "Lets get to the safehouse first. We'll right everything when we're there."

They maneuvered their way threw several streets before halting at a house – grand but modest all the same, much like the town. Tonks raised a fist to knock but hesitated and dropped her arm to her side. She attempted it many times but something was holding her back. Confused, Harry muttered something only Tonks could here and he rapped on the door with his invisible knuckles. There were some lonely moments on the doorstep before it swung wide and Harry's eyes widened at the sight.

_ I know her!_

His wand was out and a curse on his lips but before he could finish it, Tonks inadvertently stepped in front of his path.

"Nymphadora?" the woman whispered. "Is that you?"

"Hey mum," Tonks replied with a nervous smile.

_What on earth is going on?_

The only family reunions Harry had ever witnessed was the controlled chaos of the Weasley house and then at a distance, the embrace of children and parents on Platform nine and three quarters. However he liked to think he had a vague idea of how they usually played out.

This was not it.

Suddenly, he was glad he was under the cloak. He felt his presence would undoubtedly make the situation even more awkward than it already appeared to be. The two women stared at one another, looking awfully dissimilar in appearance and eyeing each other - compassion withheld behind bars of uncertainty. Both made to speak and fell silent upon hearing the abrupt words of the other. Tonks shuffled her feet slightly and the woman in the doorway seemed not to be able to use her low-hanging jaw.

_ This is a strange mother daughter-relationship for sure._

Tonks gulped hard and regained a determined composure. "It's Burning Day, mum."

Harry watched as those cryptic words seemed to register more aptly than any before. Her face blanched and the hand on the doorknob trembled slightly. Without another thought, she gestured to Tonks.

"In, in, quickly," she whispered urgently. "Come along now."

Tonks smiled tiredly and leapt up the steps, entering the doorway in large slow steps, leaving much room for Harry to sneak by before the door closed shut. He dodged quickly as the new woman grabbed the smaller Auror with concern.

"Oh Nymphadora," she whispered. "Oh dear thing."

"It's alright mum," Tonks laughed gruffly, patting the shoulder of the other woman. "I'm fine as you can tell."

"But Burning Day!" cried the mother. "What on earth could have-"

Tonks cut her mother off with a wave of her hand. "I don't have all the answers mom, not even half of them. But before we continue we've got a rather invisible elephant in the room we should address. Harry?"

Slowly as to not further frighten what appeared to be the Auror's mother, Harry disrobed his Invisibility Cloak from his shoulders. He managed to force a small smile towards the woman who seemed to grow more livid with every passing moment. One hand shot up to her chest and the other to her mouth as she let out a dramatic gasp, earning her an eye roll and sign of her daughter.

"Harry Potter?" she cried. "Here? In Godric's Hollow? Merlin, my lord, of all people to show up at my doorstep…"

"You agreed to this remember," Tonks informed her. "You offered your home if it ever came to Burning Day."

"And I was told it was a contingency not an eventuality! I never thought in a million years headquarters would fail…no, no, no."

She paused a moment before Harry caught her glance again. With a tenderness that materialized out of thin air, she came to him quickly, though Harry did not feel as afraid as he thought he should be when descended upon by strange women.

"I…I'm Andromeda," she spoke breathlessly to him, shaking his hand warmly and firmly. "I see you've already met my daughter. Oh Merlin, how I wished we were meeting under better circumstances. Well you're safe, and you got out of headquarters with your wits with you. That gives me relief about the others."

Her reading glasses were at the tip of her nose, just waiting to fall. She gave him a warm smile, cooling his anxiety for a time. She had long black hair, somewhat wild and untamed but immeasurably rich in its quality. Her cheekbones were quite accented and red lips – all in all, quite an attractive woman. He found himself grinning and returning the shake.

"My, you're more handsome than I thought you'd be," she noted pleasantly. "Certainly those Daily Prophet articles did you no favors, though I imagine the contents would be more disheartening than the photographs."

"I…" Harry trailed wondering how to respond. And then, "Wait…the Daily Prophet? I haven't seen anything about me in the newspaper."

Tonks interjected again. She had uncannily returned to a form similar to the one Harry had first encountered her in – though her hair was again pink. Harry still was having trouble coming to terms with this absurdity. _Is she taking polyjuice?_ He wondered. Now that he looked closer he saw that Tonks had taken on many of the features he had seen with her mother. Her gaze was armed with trepidation and dismay.

"Mom, we've got to talk," she began. "Harry and I…we weren't at headquarters when it was hit. We…we don't know who was still there."

Andromeda gasped again, her eyes threatening to bulge from their sockets. She paled further. "No…Sirius?"

Harry's attention was further reeled in. He could sense Tonk's apprehension at this. "Sirius Black?" he questioned. There was a silence. "What's he got to do with this?"

Andromeda gave him a scrupulous look while Tonks found it fit to ignore her.

_ Bloody woman._ Harry thought bitterly of the Auror.

Tonks began to speak to her mother of the events of the previous night. The sun began to climb higher into the sky and Harry found himself impatiently biding his time waiting for an answer on yet another mystery – this one concerning his godfather.

So many thoughts plagued his mind as he half-listened to the Auror's tale. Why were these Triad people after him? What was this Order Tonks was talking about? Where was headquarters? Where was Dumbledore? And how did Sirius fit into all of this?

Tonks spoke quickly, leaving her mother lacking for words. Her quick-working tongue seemed almost suspiciously fast at times, almost as if she wanted to avoid answering questions by jumping from statement to statement. Her mother couldn't get a word in, though she did try on occasion. At the tale's end, Tonks' mother was standing indignantly.

"Nymphadora, but what about all of the-"

"Harry is not a member of the Order," Tonks interjected yet again. "And in fact, neither are you. You've gotten more information than most for an outsider – but don't forget we have secrets, ones we must be careful not to divulge."

It was Harry's turn now to blush in indignation. He stood up angrily. "Secrets?" he snapped. "I've been cursed at, attacked by crazy Chinamen, flown to god knows where and I don't deserve to know what's going on?"

Tonks rolled her eyes. _God I hate when she does that_.

"Nymphadora?" came a steady voice from the far stairway.

The three of them strained their necks and saw a handsome man, well past his forties, if Harry could guess. He descended the steps with purpose and there was a shimmer of passion and some strange form of power hidden away in his eyes. He smiled warmly.

"Dad," breathed Tonks.

She genuinely smiled and almost sauntered over to the man where she allowed herself to be captured in a warm embrace. He chuckled playfully. "Oh Nymphadora, my dear. What a surprise. You know you don't visit us as often as you should."

He caught Harry's eye. His brow furled in thought. "And who is this young lad?"

Tonks looked back at Harry sternly. "That's work, dad. That's Harry Potter."

What Harry saw was most bizarre. For he had been introduced many times but none reacted the way this man reacted. His eyes did not widen in excitement or surprise nor did he turn grim with who Harry was – or better yet who he was _supposed_ to be. His gaze narrowed for but a moment then blinked with acceptance as if Harry was just any other guest.

"Welcome Mr. Potter," he grinned, offering his hand. "I'm Ted Tonks. It's a pleasure to have you here."

There was a quiet and suppressed gasp than came from Andromeda's mouth, again covered by her hand and wide eyes looking about. Ted appeared not to notice.

"Well apparently the day's gotten started pretty early," he commented light-heartedly. "Shall we have breakfast? One must have a full stomach to complement a busy mind after all."

Harry grinned despite himself and his situation. There was something about this Ted Tonks that he liked, no, respected even. He glanced back at Tonks, wishing his self appointed guardian had inherited the trait. She continued to look at him inquisitively, deep in thought.

_Bloody woman. What is she thinking?_

Ted Tonks ushered Harry and his daughter into the kitchen – which appeared to be much wider than the outside of the house seemed to allow for. In fact as Harry looked around, the entire house far exceeded the real estate afforded from the house's outer appearance. _How strange. _He looked back to see Andromeda carrying still a troubled look on her face, staring out the window. She caught Harry's eye and immediately composed herself wearing a new reassuring smile as she joined them presently.

There was the hot sizzling of eggs and ham on the stove and an irresistible smell of bacon in the air. Harry's stomach growled, reminding him of his famish. They were only four people but they made quite a racket, hurrying through the motions of cooking. Harry momentarily lost himself in the scene, forgetting about all his questions, which Tonks was purposefully keeping unanswered. He forgot about his encounter with the Chinese Wizard and what he heard happened to Moody.

_I guess I never really met Moody in the first place – it still sucks though…_

He forgot about Lupin screaming his name as they all plummeted into the darkness, chased after by forces still unknown. He forgot about Dudley. God, he had been an unbearable pain in the ass but that didn't prevent the heavy guilt that hung over Harry's head.

Breakfast and merriment was in the air and like a well-timed breeze, it casted away Harry's misgivings. He could hear Ted Tonks talking animatedly while his wife and daughter laughed pleasantly. He tried to put himself to use, but Andromeda had insisted otherwise. He instead wandered the hallway decorated in a variety of pictures and portraits and…a family tree?

Harry had to crane his neck upwards to see the end of the tree. He saw the names of Ted Tonks and Andromeda…no, that wasn't right…Andromeda Black? And from their union, Harry apprehensively followed the trail to Nymphadora Tonks, the highest branch on the tree. And some few inches away, Harry gasped again, seeing the name of one Draco Malfoy occupying another branch. Another stray branch caught Harry's eye and his heart plummeted as he read it. _Bellatrix Lestrange…the death eater._

_ That's where I know that woman from!_

Harry backed away instantly, his back hitting the opposing wall hard. He could hear Tonks calling him. As soon as she rounded the corner with her mother, he had his wand in his hand, pointed at the pair of them. Tonks' eyes narrowed, not with anger or rage but…annoyance? She raised her wand to match his, to the alarm of her mother, who quickly batted down her daughter's arm.

"You've not been honest with me," Harry growled. "I know who you all are."

"Don't be thick," Tonks told him off, smugly.

"You're sister is Bellatrix Lestrange," Harry snapped. His wand began to slowly move right away from Tonks towards her mother. That set the Auror off. Her hair flashed into a fiery orange, almost causing Harry to slip in surprise.

"You point that wand away, now," she growled dangerously. "Yes my mother is Andromeda Black and yes, Bellatrix Lestrange is my aunt. But if we were to judge people based on the standing of their relatives, the world would be ripe with villains wouldn't it?"

_The world IS ripe with villains._

"Harry, spoke Andromeda softly behind Tonks. "I'm sorry, I thought you knew."

Harry's eyes darted back and forth. "You've been careful to keep things from me – don't think I haven't noticed. An attack on my house…and then things happened fast, so fast I didn't even have time to think. And…and somehow I end up here, in this strange house with strange people that just so happen to be related to those who want my severed head on a platter!"

He tried to keep his voice steady, but a childish panic made his tone edgy. Andromeda looked on him with pity. Tonks looked consumed in annoyance.

"If it helps," sighed Tonks finally, "maybe it would ease your fears to know my mother is effectively disowned from the Black family. We have no better relationship with the Lestranges than you do. Even worse, maybe. At least Bellatrix hates you for her master's sake. She hates us for personal reasons."

"I don't trust you," Harry spoke, faltering a bit.

"Harry," Andromeda came forward. "Yes I'm a Black and so is Bella and Cissy. But so is Sirius. You didn't damn him for the sins of his family. I'd hope you would offer me the same courtesy."

_Sirius. The tree says they would be cousins. Sirius._

"Breakfast," called Ted Tonks, causing all three to jump. The intensity slowly evaporated away. "Like I said, breakfast first. It'll make everything better."

The three of them slowly shuffled back to the kitchen, Harry keeping well behind the pair of them, though he had reluctantly shoved his wand shallowly back into his pocket. His eyes did not leave Tonks' wand hand. He knew he couldn't outduel her. But with her back turned, he did have a chance of outdrawing her and setting up a shield charm before making for the door. It was a rough plan at best.

_Who am I kidding, I won't get ten feet out the door before I'm face down in the dirt, dead or worse. Shit. If this goes sideways…I'm screwed._

They all sat down, Ted Tonks being a source of ease and comfort to them all. A few minutes of awkward silence and the clattering of cutlery passed. Harry fidgeted uncomfortably. Andromeda finally pushed her plate away and placed her hands on the table.

"Alright Harry. You've been very patient with us and I thank you for that."

Tonks snorted loudly as her mother shot her a disapproving glare. Harry couldn't find the energy to invest further time into disliking her. He turned his attention to Tonks' more pleasant mother.

"So ask away," spoke Andromeda. "And I'll answer whatever questions you have to the best of my abilities. But understand I don't know everything…not even close. As Nymphadora said, I'm not even a member of the Order."

Harry let his thoughts organize for a moment. Ted Tonks was lounging back in his chair, a hand on his satisfied stomach and taking this all quite lightly…almost too lightly.

_ Maybe I'm being paranoid._

"Okay," Harry spoke slowly. "Well…what is the Order to begin with?"

It was Tonks who spoke at the behest of her mother who was nudging her knowingly. "It's a secret collection of wizards and witches which stood against You-Know-Who during the First War. Apparently when he fell, they disbanded. And then about two months ago Albus Dumbledore decided to reactivate the Order. And where once there were young eager wands there are now old and timid parents conflicted with their surmounting responsibilities and all that garbage. So Dumbledore decided they needed some new blood. Enter me."

She rose and gave a phony bow to Harry. His mouth twitched in irritation. This woman really rubbed in the wrong way. It shouldn't have upset him. But when dealing with this woman, the rational part of Harry's brain seemed to fizzle away. And Tonks seemed to revel in his failings and soar high in his weaknesses.

"So…Remus and Moody are in it," Harry wondered aloud.

Tonks nodded. "Sirius too you know, and your parents, the Weasleys, and many others you don't know."

"Sirius is in the Order?" Harry demanded. "He never told me one bloody thing."

Tonks scoffed and turned away again, barely masking her annoyance. Her mother took over.

"Dear, I myself and my husband are not in the Order _per se_. Though we were dear friends with the old Headmaster and many in the Order so we do what we can when we can. You must understand Harry…it's not a lack of trust Sirius has in you. But the Order's secrecy is paramount. You are not a member. Sirius by oath could not divulge information to you."

"He's my godfather!" Harry spat angrily. "He's all I got! And this Order he's in is supposed to be fighting the one man who's out to get me, and I don't have the fucking right to know about it?"

Andromeda's face fell, Tonks' grew redder, the corner of her mouth twitching.

"There's something about Sirius you should know," Andromeda spoke now slowly and very quietly. "I don't know if he told you this but…both his parents are dead and his only brother too. They left him the house you see? And well…such a big house and all by his lonesome…he didn't really want it to go to waste."

Harry frowned in confusion. _Where is she going with this?_

Andromeda took a deep breath. "Sirius offered his house to the Order upon its return…as a base of operations."

Harry nodded dumbly at first. The words had not sunken in and the crisp bacon was momentarily dulling his faculties. Then the pieces began to fall into place – the dots were connecting in front of his very eyes. And his tight lips separated in shock – shock which then turned to horror and then…

Anguish.

He saw Tonks was looking at him hard.

_Fuck her._

Harry stood up, each breath he took chilling him to the bone. He felt numb and in some stupor he could not shake. His chair fell off its legs but he took no notice. He didn't remember saying anything but apparently he was whispering: No. Again and again and again, each time louder than the one before it until he was bellowing it. Tears spilt from Andromeda's face and Tonks watched him closely and apprehensively. Her father had quickly grown accustomed to the gravity of the situation and he too was eyeing the young man carefully.

He had lost his wits, stumbling out of the kitchen with little grace. He scarcely heard the cries that followed him. He bumped into many walls, knocking over vases, unhinging paintings as he made his crazed path to the doorway and to this accursed Godric's Hollow. He wrenched it open and took to the street. It must have been nine in the morning. Harry didn't bother to shut the door, but took off in a breakneck speed. The crisp morning cooled rivers on his cheeks. He had not realized until then the tears that were streaming down freely and uncontested.

_No, no, no, no, NO! Not Sirius…not fucking Sirius too! I was so close…fucking FEET AWAY FROM HIM! He's gone…they're all gone. All of them gone. All of them dead. And I'm still here. Why the fuck am I still here!_

What was in his mind and what was in reality began to blur for Harry Potter. For all he knew, he could have been yelling these thoughts at the top of his lungs and he would have been none the wiser. There were only about a dozen or so small roads that connected the town. Great oak trees, not dissimilar from the ones Harry and Tonks had apparated into, surrounded Godric's Hollow on all sides. Standing pillar to pillar in the ordered chaos of nature, they beckoned him to solitude. So there he ran, away from prying eyes and a cruel fate that so desperately wanted to feast on his misery. _And away from that fucking Auror._

He had made it to the foot of the forest, already panting. His frail weedy form had already given up on him, though his mind, rife with agony still longed for an external release. He balled up his hand into a fist and drove it as hard as he could against the tall oak trunk closest to him. He felt as the bark dug deep into his hand, drawling blood and if he was correct in the pain assessment, broke a couple fingers. He felt the shock travel up his arm.

_Good._

So he threw another one. And another and another and another until his arms gave out on him as well. Then he resorted to his screams – barely lucid enough to have the foresight of casting a quick silencing charm on himself. The eaves hung over him brightly and mockingly and the silent oaks were the only witnesses to Harry's mute screams.

_Sirius! Sirius! Sirius! WHO'S NEXT?_

Harry pressed his back against the trunk of the tree. His throat had now given up on him. He sat – his head hung low towards the ground. There was utter silence for a time, even in his mind. The last vestige of a guardian to Harry, some sort of parental figure with a more personal authority, was gone. There was no one left to take. He was alone. And for the first time in his life, he truly began to understand it. He was the last one standing. And perhaps fate would be especially cruel and throw Harry another bone – a chance at some childhood he never had. Only to tear it from his hands and burn his would be savior at the stake.

_Sirius never deserved this. He never deserved any of this. And I…I can't give him what he deserves…what I deserve. I deserved _HIM_ god damn it! After everything I went through…after everything _HE_ went through…there was just supposed to be a god damn respite from it all! A chance to catch our breath, to get off this onward bound train and just SIT for a while._

The thoughts were coming quickly and some made little sense to him. He was confusing himself in the anguish and in fear of tearing his own mind asunder, Harry got up slowly, putting his mind to a different task. It felt like the weight of the world was bearing down on him as he tried to maneuver himself to his knees, before finally righting himself in a staggered upright position.

_ Done is done. And dead is dead._

He looked up to find Tonks next to him. His face immediately soured and he turned away.

_She's the last fucking person I want to see right now. She better know better than to touch me right now or so help me god I'm going to FUCKING LOSE IT._

To Harry's great thanks, she did not speak and did not attempt to move closer. She took out her wand and murmured some things under her breath. There was a warm tingling in Harry's hand as the pain faded. He still had trouble moving his digits but there was no complaining on his part. He took another glance at her. She was still staring at him deeply but the annoyance had left her and she looked almost concerned.

_Almost_, he thought bitterly.

She reached out now with her left hand. She let her hand pass over his head and upon it fell his Invisibility Cloak. Harry vanished from Tonks' eyes. But she didn't move her eyes and neither did he. She was looking _into_ him, staring at his invisible pupils held within invisible eyes. Her gaze was deep, piercing the unseen and the cloak pulled over Harry's head did nothing to stifle the scrutiny. Somehow, however blind they were, he felt as if they were seeing each other genuinely for the first time.

She finally spoke, her eyes unwavering. "I have to tell you one more thing." Her voice was low and dangerous. "I don't know how else to say it but bluntly. The last time I was at headquarters…the Weasleys and your friend Hermione Granger were staying there."

He stared at the Auror blankly.

"I'm telling you this now so you don't have another fit and destroy more of my home," Tonks continued, in her usual fashion. "Stay here. Do what you need to do. Come back when you're ready."

She turned and left. He wouldn't return for some time. He wouldn't be ready.

_I might never be ready. Oh god…_

* * *

"Rufus please listen to reason."

"The minister has made his decision Dumbledore," spoke Rufus Scrimgeour stern as was his character. "And Wizengamot upheld it despite your appeal. The order is both within the Ministry's authority and within the boundaries of the law."

"The Aurors will do nothing without the consent of the Head of the Auror Office," Dumbledore said knowingly.

Rufus rose from behind his desk, placing his large hands upon his rich mahogany desk. He drew himself to full height while Dumbledore remained stationary but for the blue eyes, which rose to meet Scrimgeour's gaze.

"And you expect me to disobey a direct and very _legal_ order from the Minister?" snarled Scrimgeour. "Don't be a fool Albus, you know better."

"As do you," Dumbledore spoke again. "You know Harry Potter couldn't have been capable of this."

"No, _you_ know it!" snapped Scrimgeour. "I for one have never met the boy and do not know anything of his intentions, abilities or disposition. And even were I to share your lovely opinion of the boy, I couldn't challenge an order from my direct superior."

Albus leaned back, no doubt a million possible scenarios flickering behind his blue eyes. Scrimgeour looked out the window of his office for a moment and then frowned soon after.

"Don't think I'm oblivious to your game, Albus," spoke the head of the Auror division. "I know you went to Amelia Bones first. I understand. After all she's the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and…_technically_ my superior. There are only two reasons you came to me. One, Amelia turned you down. Hell that bloody woman takes the whole _law is the law_ more serious than any of those fools in Wizengamot. And two, you thought I'd be more malleable to your cause if only to spite Fudge."

"Or perhaps I think you are a good man with sound judgment," Dumbledore replied.

Scrimgeour allowed himself a moment of mirthless laughter. He slapped his hands together. "I'll not risk my position by countermanding Fudge. And your time is up Dumbledore."

Dumbledore stood up slowly. "You're content to let Cornerlius blunder about I see until he finally crosses the line at which point you may sweep in."

Scrimgeour said nothing but with a hardened face, opened the exiting door for Dumbledore. As the old man passed by him, he spoke again.

"But I wonder Rufus, how far will you let Britain fall in order to be its king?"

"Don't play the morally righteous card," Scrimgeour growled. "You have nothing to substantiate your position other than your faith in the boy. I'd have been able to understand where you were coming from if it was just the underage magic. But what he did to his cousin? No, there is nothing I will – nothing I _can_ do. As of now, Harry Potter is a wanted man."

* * *

**Author's Note: So here is an adventure/international thriller story that's been brewing in my mind for quite some time. It would be a big help to me if anyone cared to review and let me know what they liked and didn't like. I'm going to try and make Harry's character journey as realistic as possible, and that starts with him growing up. I hope you're all interested enough to stick with me to the next chapters. Thanks.**


	2. Burning Day

**ACT I**

**Chapter 1: Burning Day**

The headquarters of the Auror division bustled with shuffling guests and an air of confusion. Every kind of witch or wizard could be found here and there was little discrimination among Auror ranks. If there was one universal element in the human temperament, it was the propensity for violence and the hunt for the thrill. Employment in the Auror Division lacked for neither. The Aurors huddled around a large Ministry cafeteria, now having been converted into a make shift briefing room. Above most heads towered a large African man by the name of Kingsley Shaklebolt. As he passed by his colleagues, several gave him deep nods of respect. He forced back a friendly smile. Shaklebolt prayed than they didn't notice his slight limp.

His adventure of sorts in the previous night would follow him to the end of his days. They had come to relieve the Advanced Guard just in time. Lupin's face was a bloody mess, Kingsley could remember as brooms flew high into the night and spells screamed after them. They were all players in the greatest Muggle fireworks show. Kingsley rubbed his right thigh tenderly. It was still healing from the strange bolt he had taken from one of the fliers. It was a flight of sheer adrenaline, terror and utter madness. All of them fought for their lives with a ferocity only unlocked as they stood at the doors of death. Scrimgeour's loud and authoritative voice brought him back to the present, where the crowd of three hundred or so Aurors had immediately gone into professional silence.

"New orders," barked Scrimgeour, "From on high! We will be pulling many of you from your smaller cases into this operation. From here on out, this is the most important case in the Auror division. You'd do well to treat it as such. And before we begin, let me remind you of the confidential nature of _all_ dealings in the Auror division. You will not speak of this to your wives, your families or your friends, on pain of death and charges of sedition. Do I make myself clear?"

Silence followed. Scrimgeour smirked grimly. "Very well."

He passed his wand over a nearby wall. Its coloration was disturbed and began to glow a vibrant range of colors before settling into a coherent portrait of a young man with green eyes bearing an ominous scar on his forehead.

"In case you live under a rock," called Scrimgeour, "I give you Harry James Potter, boy-who-lived, Triwizard champion and a would-be fifth year Hogwarts student who has a knack in getting in all sorts of trouble."

The omission of the more detailed history with a certain Dark Lord did not go unnoticed by the Aurors. Scrimgeour was not a man easily impressed – as all Aurors knew. Despite the notable citizen they were discussing, it did not appear that the Head Auror held him in high regard, or any regard for that matter. To Scrimgeour, he was naught but a criminal with an ugly scar on his forehead. And addressing the Voldemort matter would be opening a can of worms best left to politicians.

"At 12:37 pm Law Enforcement Patrol responded to the Trace on one Harry Potter engaging in underage magical activity. When they arrived, they found _him_."

Scrimgeour waved his wand and the picture of Harry bled into the picture of Dudley Dursley, his corpse rolled over so they could get a look at his face. The spread of blood around the body was disturbing. However the Aurors, as they were, did not flinch. They shouldered the burden, as they always had done.

"He is Dudley Dursley, Potter's cousin, found dead a couple blocks from his home. And," another wave of the wand, "These are Potter's guardians Vernon and Petunia Dursley, one found dead next to his son, the other in her home. All of them were cursed with magic we've never seen before – it's giving Experimental Charms a run for their money."

"How do we know it was Potter who cursed them?" spoke Kingsley Shaklebolt.

Scrimgeour's eyes found him in the crowd. "We don't. We can't verify it because _conveniently_ Potter snapped his wand, likely to try and prevent a Priori Incantato from revealing his curses. What we know is that Potter's Trace was active during the period where the Dursleys were murdered. We know that he fled the scene soon after. And we know that his relationship with the Dursleys was a very bad and abusive one."

"Sir, you needn't to pull us off our cases simply to catch one boy," spoke one John Dawlish. "Just enlist a Hit Wizard or two at best. Potter's still a schoolboy."

Scrimgeour grimaced. "Experimental Charms have been working on the bodies all night and the one thing they know for certain is that the magic is definitively _not_ rooted in Greek magic – meaning this brand of magic is not native to the West."

All the Aurors now looked at the cursed corpses with significantly more intrigue. They were no professional Charmers but the Dark Arts was all they knew.

"If it's not of the West…" murmured another Auror holding up three fingers and speaking loud enough for others to hear. "Then it's got to be Egyptian…or Polynesian…or maybe even Chinese. And the amount of blood suggests that it's not Egyptian."

"Polynesian seems equally unlikely," suggested another.

The Aurors' eyes darted back to Scrimgeour who did nothing to correct the statement. He looked at them stone-eyed and raised himself to his full height.

"Three murdered muggles is bad enough. But fiercely guarded Chinese magic being appropriated by a foreigner? That is a calamity. At best, there will be an embarrassing inquiry into British internal affairs and reticence agreements by the ICW – no doubt prompted by the Chinese. At worst, the Chinese may be compelled to forcefully extradite one of our most notable citizens and sever diplomatic ties with Britain. This mess will be _very_ costly to Anglo-Sino relations."

"All because of some bloody spell?" muttered an Auror disbelievingly.

Scrimgeour sent the wizard a stern look. "I don't pretend to understand the Chinese any better than you, however I do know that they guard their native magic with near religious devotion. For the Potter boy to have some how learned of their secrets and use it would be an egregious affront to the East. As I have been told, some twenty years ago, a Polish boy at Durmstrang caught using stolen Chinese magic. Within a week, he had been extracted to China and tried and sentenced. His wand was snapped, his magic sealed, the headmaster of the school was sacked, several prominent members of the Polish Ministry and Durmstrang Board of Governors resigned immediately."

"Who do they think they are?" muttered one – a notion being shared by many in the briefing. The haughty status of China among magical nations was a widespread source of discontent in the magical world – worse still that China did nothing to try and remove themselves from lofty heights or share their secrets.

"Understand the significance of this case. We need to apprehend Potter before the Chinese get wind of this. Any story with Potter doesn't stay quiet for long but I reckon I can sequester the Daily Prophet at least about the Chinese magic for about a week before they break the story. Once the Chinese hear about their fiercely guarded magic being appropriated by a foreign Englishman they will be in an outrage. Bones reckons they'll use their significant clout in the International Confederation of Wizards to demand an inquiry into British affairs. The ministry cannot afford this international embarrassment, least of all with the Chinese. It took us over two decades to get a Chinese Ambassador on British soil. We cannot lose the diplomatic ties we worked so hard to create. We must find Potter on our own and present the real story to the Chinese before they go over our heads to the ICW."

Scrimgeour stood and so did the rest of the Auror corps dutifully. "We stick to protocol. Sweep all probable locations. Interrogate all possible collaborators. If we have nothing in a week, I get a warrant to raid Hogwarts. If we have nothing in two weeks, I lock down the English channel."

* * *

It was twilight when Harry Potter returned. His feet dragged amongst the dead leaves and his shoulders hung defeated. Dim stars reflected in his eyes but beyond them there was little light. A gentle breeze wisped about him, and ruffled his hair in the wind. Harry stopped and lifted his head to the sky with closed eyes and a heavy heart. A dreadful moan escaped his lips. Oh how he wished the breeze were a gale, one strong enough to blow away his hurts.

But it was only a breeze. And when it passed, darkness still hung above Harry's head and his dejected form crumpled at the knees. It was coming – the darkness. It was taking its time, swallowing each outlying star, edging ever closer at the slowest possible pace, but still coming. Always coming. It was relentless. It wouldn't stop. And it had patience. On all sides it was slithering towards him as if he were a lone island atop a sea of nightfall and obscurity. Little hope was the few remaining stars. They were distant and blinked often, their offered light faltering. He was falling and the darkness chased him. And the starlight in all its splendor could not reach him. The shadows outpaced the sun. Soon they would overtake Harry too. Already he felt the cold nipping around his ankles and dusk clawing at his mind. He was screaming into space. And no one would ever hear it.

In every star, he bore witness to a face, clearer and brighter than the sun, the face of friends, memories, desires. Each burned bright and made battle with the gnawing blackness about it, burning brightest, like a great flash, in the seconds before it went out forever. He saw a sea of red hair and beneath it, eyes jostling with joviality and comfort. He saw a mane of thick bushy brown hair and heard like music to his ears the bossy and memorable voice he would not forget. And he saw lastly the Grim – feral yet tame, ferocious yet collected. And it stared at him through wide yellowed eyes, in an arcane manner before it howled and was gone.

He was suddenly shook hard. He gazed up, startled. Ted Tonks was with him, a cup of coffee in one hand while the other stifled a stiff yawn. He gave Harry a friendly smile with tired eyes and helped him stand. Harry accepted it ungainly. He was in a wretched state of mind and wondered how if there was more ill news to be borne.

"I…Mr. Tonks…" Harry murmured. His voice was hoarse and his throat dry and uncomfortable. "You shouldn't have stayed up for me."

"Nonsense," Ted replied cheerful in the night, "and call me Ted. Nymphadora just threw a bombshell at you and left you to your own devices for how you would climb out of the smoking crater. It's her nature. She's always been independent – always relied on herself. It's why she's grown into such a confident young lass."

He laughed gently in his reminiscence.

Harry looked at his feet. _Is he here to brag about his daughter?_

"But she never had any expectations to meet," Ted spoke again. "She grew at her own proper pace. She was allowed many happy years of experimentation – experimentation which I warn you, Andromeda was not too pleased about. Not like you. Your life has been ordained most untimely and mired with things I could never imagine besetting my daughter at your age."

Harry could only nod his head. They began to walk back together, silent under the stars. The wind had stilled and died. Amidst the sleeping town, it was just the two of them in the world. There was something about this Ted Tonks, something Harry could not readily describe. But it was not unpleasant.

"You're…you're not a wizard are you," Harry asked flatly, though it came out more as a statement.

"Me? Heavens no," chuckled Ted Tonks. "I find myself too simple a man for all the complexities in your magical world. Yet I suppose, thanks to my wife, I know a good deal about your world and I think our worlds are not so different. There are triumphs and victories, defeats and sorrowed nights. And all of us, regular or magical folk must reconcile this with ourselves."

"How do I reconcile this?" Harry mumbled. "How can I go back after everything that has happened?"

Ted paused. "You can't. You can't ever go back, ever be who you were before. These events have made you something more…or maybe something less. The pains you have will follow you to your final days. You are changed Harry."

"For better or for worse?" Harry asked heavily.

"That my friend is entirely up to you."

_Bullshit_.

They fell into silence once more. Harry knew the conversation hadn't done anything for him, but Ted was a pleasant man to be around. And his presence, like a dam held back the tides of grief for a small time. It would break again soon enough and rapid waters would descend and crush Harry. He had to fight back. He had to swim. And live.

The two men entered the house silently. They all must have been asleep by that time. Ted showed Harry to a guest room where a bed had been readied for him. Ted excused himself to his own quarters. Harry rubbed his palm across the smooth surface of the bed, savoring its silky qualities. He felt strange and looked over his shoulder and swore he saw the faintest flash of pink before it was hidden away beyond the doorway. He shook the thought away.

_Will I sleep tonight?_

Harry laid his head on the pillow. It was a softer bed than he had ever lain in before, Hogwarts or Privet Drive. The linen was silk and the mattress gave way to his form as if he were floating on air. A bed for a king.

He felt like he was sleeping on nails.

_No sleep tonight. Maybe that's a good thing._

Harry propped himself up on his pillow and stared into the moon, falling now in a silver splendor. He knew if he continuously stared for hours, the image would not change to him. But if he were to turn away and come back in an hour the moon would be in an entirely different position. Harry didn't know why he was thinking about this. His mind seemed entirely detached from his will – desperately seeking out any and all distractions.

"Ron," he whispered. "Hermione. George. Fred. Ginny. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Sirius. Sirius…"

_Sirius. Sirius. Sirius_.

In the first hours Harry had spent among the trees, he had thought himself spent of tears. Falling fast from his eyes in rage and sorrow and confusion, Harry battered his body in tandem with his battered mind. And at long last, only when the world became cool and darkness had fallen did Harry stumble home.

In the dead of night Harry set aside his vanity. His eyes rained upon his cheeks like a great tempest. And he wept a silent cry with only the moon as his witness. He wept and wept and wept and it was never enough. In closed fists he held his bed sheets while seas of his sorrow swept down his face.

_Wake me up. Please…wake me up!_

Harry looked to the moon, as if demanding an answer. It stared back at him in a cold silver hue. And in silent hours to come, Harry simply sat and stared at the moon. Soon before his very eyes the moon became fire encircled and silver turned to gold. Harry blinked several times. The sun had bested the night and now stood where once the moon lingered. He felt no more heat from the sun than he did from the moon. Harry turned his gaze down dumbly – unsure what to do now that he had outstayed the night.

He took out the foreign wand he had nabbed from his fallen attacker, wondering how much damage he could cause with it, wondering if he could conjure up the sun as it had been done two nights past and send it at his enemies. He was tempted to try, tempted to whisper the words he had overheard from those Triad bastards.

Harry ran his fingers up the wand. It was rigid and unbending. The wood had a reddened brown hue and it was heavier than any others he had held. On the butt end, was engraved the tiniest symbol, one Harry could not read. He twirled it in his hand. It was eerie and somehow seemed…_efficient_.

_Maybe this was the wand that killed Dudley._

Harry felt sick to his stomach and threw the wand to the other side of his bed. The sickness passed for a while only for Harry to realize his famish again. Indeed he had been amongst the trees for most of the previous day. It was still early out. Harry descended the stairs and left the house once more, pausing only to leave a small note detailing his return.

He walked around aimlessly for some minutes. His stomach growled horribly. He crossed a small deserted stone bridge and passed by what looked to be a pub. He walked further and came into a small clearing, gated by elegant black metalwork. A grassy hill was before Harry and everywhere sprouted up small polished rocks. They were engraved with names and titles and memorabilia and everything imaginable to prevent those names from falling into obscurity. Harry felt chilled and he turned away from the graveyard suddenly. He found himself staring at a smaller girl, close to his age with meek looking brown eyes and a firm bosom. But what his eyes were drawn to was her hair, as red and fiercely untamed as flames. She looked at him oddly.

"Um, hello," she squeaked.

"Hello," Harry replied heavily.

They simply stared at each other for an awkward moment.

"Do you live here?" she asked.

Harry paused. "I suppose so. Or I used to I guess."

She said something to him but he was no longer listening. He hardly saw the girl. All he saw was the lush red hair flowing upon her head. Red hair that so painfully reminded him of things gone and lost. Red hair that would never again be worn by any so cheerful and wholesome as the Weasleys. Red hair.

"Are you okay?" she asked, stirring him from thought.

Harry closed his eyes, ridding his mind from the fiery hair and shook his head forcefully. "Sorry. You just…you remind me of someone I knew."

"What's your name?"

"Harry."

"Just Harry?"

"Just Harry."

There was a finality in his tone he didn't bother to hide.

"Hmm," the girl rubbed her chin. "Did you lose someone Harry?"

Harry very nearly reeled back from the girl. "What?"

"Well you are standing outside a cemetery, you know," she spoke in a matter-of-fact tone that he was all too familiar with. _Hermione…I'm so sorry._

_Did I lose someone?_

Harry knew the answer was many times greater and more sorrowful than such an innocent inquiry would have beckoned. He had lost. He had lost everything. The sun – a blinding globe of unmitigated fire – had consumed all he once held close. He could still feel its heat. The memories of his friends gave him as many scorches and burns as they did tears. He couldn't bear the memories of the happy past, for they were all ashes now without the prospect of the rising anew. This so called Order of the Phoenix – it was no phoenix at all. The Burning Day burned on and on. How would he go on? Harry had often thought that in his adventures, his greatest crutch was luck. But he saw all to late how wrong that was. His luck was nothing to the strength of those around him. _They_ had been his crutch, his luck be damned.

The pain welled in him, spreading like a cancer, too multitudinous for anger or vengeance to set in. He was not avenger. He was broken. He was missing.

"Missing what?"

Harry stirred. He hadn't realized he had uttered the last words aloud. For some reason he felt a great deal of contempt towards this girl…this mockery of a friend. Who was she, this pretender who with a few words aspired to access his intimate thoughts and pains? Who was she, this wench who wore her fiery hair less fair than the Weasleys, or spoke with a tone more capricious and less warming than Hermione? She was not his friend. His friends were dead.

"Go away," he spat, though the harshness surprised even him.

She flinched and stepped back once, but no further. There was a glimmer of pain in her eyes and her mouth was agape with confusion.

_She's still there_.

"I SAID LEAVE!" Harry found himself screaming at the poor girl. But poor was the last and kindest of qualities he saw in her. He saw something he wished never to see so long as he lived – shadows.

The redhead sulked away without a word and Harry, knowing regret would set in soon, threw his mangled hand at the fence of the cemetery. The deep tremors of pain coursing through his nerves did nothing for his torment. And he gave a small roar of frustration.

Harry swore loudly, ignoring the early hour. Let the disheveled townspeople scorn him. He didn't care. He just wanted to forget it all – forget about his friends and Sirius and his parents and Voldemort and Dumbledore and everything. Harry wondered what he'd find after stripping away all those layers of companionship and in one case, mortal threat. He could find nothing in its absence, nothing but the horrid emptiness of a place that once seemed so full and cheerful. A hollowed shell of a boy who lived, whilst others fell around him.

He needed to clear his head. But every second the day's rays beat down on him was a scornful reminder of the small sun that had taken away all he had. The very sun was perverse memento and Harry would see it every day of his life. He slumped against the side of the fence. He was angry. He was broken. He was missing.

"What am I going to do?" he whispered again – alone with his thoughts.

Diverging thoughts vied for dominance in his mind.

_Regroup. Get back to Hogwarts. Dumbledore will have a plan_.

_Run. Run to protect the few people left that you still hold dear._

_Fight. Give them a taste of vengeance. Show them what it is like to lose everything._

He saw red and gripped the rails of the fence tightly.

_Kill. Kill them. Kill them all. Kill their loved ones. Kill their friends. Or die trying._

_But how?_

How indeed. He had a wand he could barely control. His old one, which fit him like a glove, was in pieces perhaps taken by the rain into a nearby storm drain. He had lost his Firebolt – the prized broom he had been gifted by his Godfather. His friends were gone. His luck, all but spent. These Triads were weaving powerful magic, powerful enough to have killed Moody, a man who carried a reputation as fearsome as his appearance. If not for Harry's last vestige of luck in his inadvertent apparation, he knew he'd be dead or at least captured. He felt powerless, struggling like a child with balled bruised fists tapping against the knee of a giant.

Harry felt as if he was falling down a deep chasm with his limbs dangling uselessly behind him. It was unending descent so helplessly interred in the deepest levels of the world that all the light was swallowed and his sight was deprived. But he could still feel _it_. He could feel the nauseating feeling welling up in his stomach as he plunged further and further down. He was falling the endless fall. He was sinking beneath the mantle of the world, groping but never finding a foothold. And his screams reached no ears.

_Falling the endless fall, eh?_

As soon as the bloodlust had become him, it vanished just as quickly. He was no murderer. But then, what was he? A whelp that had to scurry behind greater men like Dumbledore? A boy whose only real talent was his disproportionate share of luck? A whipping boy for the cruel designs of fate? Was he being written into a tragedy? Was this some sick game? Who was he? Who was he _supposed_ to be? These questions left Harry ever exhausted and more confused without the answer to the most crucial question of all.

"What am I going to do?" he asked again, heavy with the fear he might never find the answer.

_I need to do _something! _Anything! But what? Dumbledore? Vanish? Fight alone? Take down as many as I can? Run?_

**RUN** the message had said to him. He still felt the crumpled paper in his pocket. He had told no one of it.

Maybe the key to this thing was not to think about what had happened. Maybe he should ask what is yet to be done, rather than how to reconcile what has already passed.

He swore in frustration again. He might never shake this newfound habit. But he knew one thing. He couldn't continue like this. He could not allow himself to continue to tread this path of remembering his fallen friends while his grief multiplied before his very eyes. This would not do.

And so he lifted himself from the fence, straightening the thin jacket gifted to him by Ted Tonks – all the while hoping he could similarly straighten out his mind and put it to the task. A task he had yet to decide on. And the choices and contingencies continued to pop into his head as he made the solemn trek back to the Tonks house. The dawn gave way to the late morning and the village began to rise from slumber. And now Harry walked without the stumble of one crushed by grief. It was present and still moaning but lulled at least while the boy-who-lived contemplated what was left to do.

"What am I going to do?" he asked again.

And maybe soon he'd find an answer.

* * *

"Shanghai is furious," spoke the mediator almost with cruel satisfaction. "Chang in particular wants your head for the collateral damage you caused."

"I did what I had to," replied the voice in the mirror, cool and collected.

"He doesn't think so," the mediator replied. "He's angry enough to have relayed a direct message."

The voice in the mirror changed to the deep throaty voice of a man, not lacking in any authority, confidence or wrath.

_ "I was told the Triads were professionals not wild dogs after cars!" roared the new voice, with the power to shake the resolve of ordinary men. But neither of them were ordinary men. The new voice continued. "You had explicit orders Wei – I made sure Shanghai made it unequivocally clear what you were to do! BRING POTTER BACK ALIVE! Instead you tried to kill him! What madness overtook you to such action? Your actions betrayed the trust of your superiors, stained the reputation of a group you so loyally serve and implicated us in the most blatant use of illegal sacrosanct magic we have ever seen! In your craze you lost three men and the fourth must be out of commission for weeks at least from your senseless display of the Dai Ren – one of our most prized and more importantly forbidden techniques. You alerted the British to a Chinese presence on the Isles and Potter is still on the loose. You will revert to your mission directive immediately. And for god sake, reign in the collateral damage! If you do not I will send real men, loyal men to put you down, dog."_

The voice died out and the mediator tentatively waited in silence to hear the reaction of Wei, her employer and tormenter. It was a just thrashing, she thought – one that invoked fear. But for a man of such terrible reputation as this Wei character, she did not know if it was enough to tame him. She could almost smell the bloodlust and the madness about him. And most frightening of all, this insanity was held at bay by a gate of steel poise, opening only at the express wishes of the master. The door to his wrath was held firmly shut by his own will. And when he decided to open it, torrents of fire would ignite and the world would be too small a place to outrun the flames. Such control and power were undoubtedly bequeathed in the past to men who once conquered the earth.

"Back to the matter at hand," he finally spoke, his tone betraying no sense of worry or regret. Rather he spoke lazily as if on a calm summer stroll. Somehow the mediator doubted he was the type.

"But…but," stammered the mediator. "Chang is-"

"In London," he finished. "Potter is not. He is my goal and I am the pursuer, not Chang. I've just handed you your next assignment."

The mediator looked down at a plain notebook lying at her side. Jet-black ink appeared from hidden contours of the page and began swirling like a tempest until taking calligraphic shapes. The mediator took a moment to read it silently and she shook with the sheer gall of this Wei.

"I won't do this," snapped the lady into her mirror.

"I was assured that you would be able to handle the complexities of-"

"I never said I _couldn't_ do this, I said I _won't_ do it. It's…it's illegal on so many levels."

"Illegal? My dear, what is it you think we do?" laughed the man on the other end. "You had no scruples when you dealt with Wizengamot."

"Those were just bribes! This is…this will ruin him! Both of them!"

"Large crime, small crime, a crime is a crime. And we must remove the Thief from the equation."

"I will not-"

"YOU WILL!" bellowed the voice, with a hot flash of anger. "Do not forget our arrangement, girl! If you do not keep your side of the bargain, I have absolutely _no_ reason to honour my own."

The heat of his rage rose before her eyes and she tried to shake off the chill of her own fear, now breaking her into a cold sweat and desperate pleas. She tried to remove the tremble from her voice but she sorely failed in this.

"Once I do this," the woman replied shakily, "then I'm done."

"You're done when I say you're done!" roared the voice. "And no sooner!"

The mirror dimmed away and the woman fought the urge to scream and launch the accursed mirror to the other side of the room.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office with sad blue eyes as he watched a tiny featherless Fawkes hobble on his desk. Fawkes squeaked softly and the Headmaster scooped the small bird up in the palm of his hand. Fawkes fit snuggly there. It seemed, as he grew older Fawkes grew more beautiful. It may just as well have been the prideful eye of a master, but Dumbledore thought his lifelong friend now bore a red plumage more rich and brilliant than ever. Fawkes wore it even now, as a small hatchling, as a king wears a crown.

"Albus!" exclaimed Minerva McGonagall. "What are we to do? Are you not concerned of what's happening? You received word from Andromeda did you not? Harry is under their very roof, as is protocol for Burning Day! What are we going to do?"

Dumbledore turned towards his deputy with a deeply troubled look. "I am entirely concerned. Sleep eludes me still while I wonder what is to be done. I had not anticipated my appeal in Wizengamot failing. And neither Amelia nor Rufus were willing to listen to me. I'm afraid my stature amongst these power brokers has fallen greatly."

"And Fudge?" McGonagall asked with barely contained contempt at the name. "What of him?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Between his valiant efforts to remove my titles and smearing Harry's name, it's been rather difficult to secure a meeting with him."

"Then I ask again, what is to be done?" McGonagall repeated. Her words were those of a teacher fearful for her student. "After Alastor and Hestia and…"

"There are none who regret the loss of life greater than I," Dumbledore spoke quietly. "It is abominable that the children suffered."

"We must find Potter and bring him back within the school's safety!" the head of Griffindor said at once.

"Harry is a wanted man," spoke the Headmaster. "Bringing him back here implicates Hogwarts and all its staff. But I agree we must move him somewhere…somewhere safe. I may even consider sending him abroad to my chalet at Lake Louise. However finding the appropriate guardians to bring him there will be challenging. We have suffered a great deal and I am afraid we do not readily have as many bodies as I would have liked."

"Surely Shaklebolt-"

"Kingsley has been pulled off the Black case to help with the manhunt for Harry," Dumbledore murmured. "A manhunt I was unable to stop in Wizengamot. Our dear friend Alastor has passed on. Sirius, god bless him, has found rest and Remus and Severus are still in serious condition being cared by our Madam Pomphrey. The dear Weasleys and Miss Granger…they shall be remembered and revered for all they did."

Dumbledore sighed deeply and stroked the deep plume of his loyal phoenix. "I fear we cannot risk moving Harry just yet while we are so ill-manned. I will try to get news to them through whomever I can spare but as for now Harry stays put. I dare not risk relocating him without at least a guard of our ten best. We must keep him sequestered where he is. We can only hope for Harry that his lone protector – Andromeda's own daughter according to the message – will do her very best to keep Harry safe."

"And how much can we truly trust Harry's only guardian?" McGonagall demanded. "I am soft for Andromeda as much as any but her daughter is a new initiate of mere weeks! Now with Alastor gone, so is the one who vouched for her! She was always a troublemaker, that one. And she is a Metamorphmagus! They have always been shady folk…"

"I understand the concern," spoke Dumbledore. "But Miss Tonks has thus far proved a stalwart protector. We must hope she continues her efforts."

"And while we scramble about ourselves, You-know-who gathers his forces in the shadows and this new group of Chinese mercenaries tears Britain by root and stem looking for Harry," McGonagall seethed in frustration.

"This I agree, cannot stand," Dumbledore affirmed soundly. "I intend to be abroad at once. I shall go to Shanghai myself and make heads or tails of this affair."

"China Albus? Will they ever allow it? It's been years since they let a foreign wizard in."

"Oh, I think they will make an exception for me," Dumbledore smiled looking at his beautiful phoenix. "Though not for my popularity in the Far East I suspect. It may be hard to imagine, but even if I were to proclaim Britain a desolate pigsty, I would still be more favored in Britain than I have ever been in China."

Fawkes cooed loudly in agreement. Dumbledore looked at the bird hard, and saw in its eyes the longing to stretch its wings, end to end across the office and reach once more the full breadth of its majesty – and then perish in fire, in Burning Day.

Only to rise once more.

* * *

When Harry returned to the Tonks household, he solemnly wished that the pink-haired Auror would not be there. He was not granted such mercy. She was lounging on the couch, a buttered bagel in one hand while the other propped up the Daily Prophet on her knee. Her eyes strayed up from the newspaper to steal a long glance at Harry, who brushed her off and took a silent seat.

Andromeda and Ted must have gone to work, leaving the two of them only with the company of each other.

_Torture_, Harry thought.

"News?" he asked her distractedly. _Anything to distract me._

"It's as I thought," Tonks sighed, ruffling the paper in her hands. "You are wanted for the murder of Dudley Dursley, Vernon Dursley and Petunia Dursley. The Minister has personally requested that your case be dealt with by the Auror Division and not standard Hit Wizard investigators. You are to be considered, and I quote, _a highly disturbed and dangerous criminal_."

_Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia are dead_.

Harry had all but expected this. He felt it strange that he was not moved. And for a brief moment he was ashamed of his apathy. They had never been any more to him than cold and reluctant relatives. He was sure they died cursing his name. Despite this, Harry found himself hoping they were at least spared the knowledge of their beloved son's death before they met their own end.

And he was a criminal now. A lawbreaker. A felon. A convict. He had graduated from petty rule breaking in Hogwarts. He was a wanted man – people would be looking for him now, intent on exacting justice they believe he deserved. Because of course, he was now a _highly disturbed and dangerous criminal_. His way of life in this world was now impossibly changed. He was a murderer now, no better in the eyes of society than the Death Eaters they shooed to the shadows in shame and fear. He feared his popularity would skyrocket – and for all the wrong reasons. According to the Prophet he had killed his relative in cold blood. It was infamy in the making.

"It seems Dumbledore tried to challenge the order of your arrest in Wizengamot," Tonks continued. "His bid was unsuccessful. Apparently the Prophet attributes this to him clinging on to the grandeur of being former Chief Warlock of the courts. And now...oh, you'll like this one…the man presiding over Wizengamot is Lucius Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" repeated Harry viciously. "What the hell does he have to offer the courts?"

"Only three decades of legal experience, funding for at-risk Ministry projects and the blessing of the Minister himself," Tonks shrugged. "I don't like it anymore than you, trust me. Oh, and they also filled another one of Dumbledore's former positions! Supreme Mugwump, silly name I know. It seems one Fabien Delacour will now be chairing the International Confederation of Wizards. Ha! Just when the world thought they had gotten the ICW out of the hands of the French!"

Harry briefly thought on a girl with silvered hair while Tonks giggled to herself over petty world politics. His thoughts soon turned grim once more.

"What about…Grimmauld?" Harry asked, his voice horribly hollow. _My Godfather's home…it could have been _my_ home. It _should've _been my home._

Tonks paused. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is calling it a home-made charms experiment gone awry. And who's to say otherwise? The lone witness on the scene could barely describe the moments before the explosion as a bright flash of gold. And it's not even close to the front page. No one cares, not while you're the hot story."

Harry nodded dimly.

Tonks suddenly leaned in towards him. "And where were you this morning?"

Harry leaned away from the Auror, not meeting her uncomfortable gaze. "Clearing my head."

Tonks tilted her head to an angle. "And?"

"And what?" he snapped.

"And is it clear?"

_Of course it's not fucking clear!_

But even as the thought came to him, Harry found himself reluctant to voice it, if only for the familiar lofty look in her eyes that always seemed to be searching for something.

"I'm fine," he said coolly.

"I should hope not," Tonks replied dryly. " Anyone who can compartmentalize that in the span of a dozen hours would be…oh I don't know…_a highly disturbed and dangerous criminal?_"

Her lip was twitching upwards, almost cruelly. Harry did not see the humor in this. In fact he found no comfort in all the many things this Auror seemed to take light-heartedly. Harry could already tell she made a habit of prancing on morbid subjects – and it ruefully unnerved him.

Looking again, her smile had faded. He felt too tired to risk another explosion of anger. He owed it to Andromeda and Ted not to destroy their house because of their infuriating daughter. He exhaled deeply and brushed through the paper absent-mindedly. He looked once more and Tonks was still staring at him.

_Am I some fucking circus show to her?_

"What are we going to do?" he finally asked her – and he so longed for her to deliver for once a straight answer. But she did not play by his rules.

"What do you think?" Tonks asked, crossing her arms and legs.

Harry's frustration mounted again. "I don't rightly know do I? That's why I'm asking!"

Tonks let out a haughty disappointing sigh. She held up her hands. "Alright, alright. Don't go bashing your head against a tree again. "

Harry flushed red and gritted his teeth. Out of the corner of her eye, he saw her give a capricious giggle.

"Well?" Harry demanded.

"We are staying put here until the Order deems it safe enough to make contact with us," Tonks spoke lazily. "I imagine the first order of business will be to move you to a more secure location."

"What about the Triads?" Harry pressed. "What is Dumbledore going to do about them?"

Tonks face contorted into look of irritation. "Dumbledore? What are _you_ going to do about them?"

Harry stuttered a moment. "Me? I…"

"Because the way I see it, they are after _you_, not Dumbledore and certainly not the Order," Tonks said crossly. "This is as much your problem as it is Dumbledore's – if not more."

Harry watched in shock as her hair turned fiery red and she fumed as if a great anger was aching to be released. Her aggravation had replaced her mirth within seconds and she was already on her feet, staring down at him.

"This is a war!" Tonks scolded. "The casualties will rise and no one, _no one_ is safe, not even Albus Dumbledore! There may come a day when we can no longer rely on his wisdom! And then what? The charge of responsibility and choice falls on us! As it always has! If you can't think for yourself, if you can't take action without the approval of another, you will not last! Don't you understand?"

Tonks seemed beyond angry now. She was livid, for what reasons Harry struggled to comprehend. And she was towering over Harry's sitting form with an indecipherable look. "Well?"

Harry moved his jaw silently, his tongue searching for words while his brain tried to aptly retort. He seemed a lame indecisive child – and it burned him to realize it. Had she known he had been wrestling with this very question all morning?

_Well? What am I going to do? Think! Say something! Don't let this woman keep making a fool out of you!_

His time was up and the Auror was done waiting for him. Tonks backed away, her shoulders slumped and a small hint of defeat on her brow. She shook her head slowly.

"Forget it," she muttered. "Forget it."

And she slunk out of the room more dejected than Harry all while the boy-who-lived wondered what he had just heard. This Auror was turning on a dime, one moment calm and the next moment furious, one second solemn and the next in laughter. But always, she looked at him with that incisive gaze. Sometimes she would steal away quick glances of concern. Other times she would gaze long until it became manifest and uncomfortable.

_What is she after? Something's bothering her…is it me? I haven't done a bloody thing to Tonks! Well except the stunner…and she paid me back in kind. What's her problem?_

The following day passed both painfully slow and hazily fast. Ted Tonks appeared to be some sort of writer, locking himself in his solitary study for most of the day. Strangely, Harry could not fathom that such an extroverted personality could lend itself to the countless hours spent with naught but one's own thoughts. He could never endure such a cruel thing – he'd sooner go mad. With Ted locked in his study strengthened with a special silencing charm and Andromeda away with Healer duties, Harry found himself more often than not in the constant company of one Nymphadora Tonks.

And he did everything he could to escape her presence. He kept company with the tall oaks on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow. There he would slump under golden eaves and continue to ponder what is to be done. It was horrible beyond measure – these days of inaction where Harry could find nothing more to do than pitiful self-reflection. After everything that had happened, his only active role now was sitting and waiting. He _had_ to do something. He had to take the fight to them. Somehow…

"How's the wand," Tonks had asked him, sipping her coffee in bemusement.

Harry had stopped bothering to wonder about the source of her infinite contentment. He gazed at the rigid wand with some disdain.

"I haven't used it since we dueled," Harry murmured. "I…I don't want to use it again."

Tonks said nothing more and returned to nursing her coffee, humming a small tune under her breath. It was Harry's turn to gaze at her inquisitively, wondering what was going on beneath that pink hair of hers. He realized he had held the stare too long and was now locking eyes with Tonks who was wearing a familiar wry smirk.

"A picture lasts longer," she quipped.

Harry immediately broke off his gaze. Tonks laughed.

"Now don't go swooning over me," she giggled. "It'll make things dreadfully awkward around here."

Harry went red. "I'm wasn't _swooning_! I…I was thinking about your Metamorphmagus traits."

"So mum told you, eh?"

"Just the basics. When…when did you learn you were…you know…"

_Goddamn it, even small talk is strange with her!_

Tonks raised an eyebrow. "I was eight. By accident I had screwed up my face to look like this."

Her face impossibly contorted until she was spouting a long ugly beak where her nose and mouth once were. She cawed a couple times and reversed the transformation.

"My mother was so hysterical," Tonks reminisced with a smile. "She locked me in St. Mungo's for a week trying to discover what was _wrong with me_. Apparently I was the first Metamorphmagus born to Britain in some 50 years."

"And you can change into anyone?" Harry inquired curiously. "You can literally become _anyone_?"

Tonks nodded absentmindedly. "As long as I have a decent idea what they look like. It makes for great sex, I've been told."

Harry sputtered in shock over the nonchalant afterthought. This Auror was awful!

"It's why we were ideal spies," Tonks went on. "We could wear other people's faces as the perfect disguise and none would be the wiser." She paused, and narrowed her eyes at Harry. She broke out into a small grin. "Take this for instance."

She stood up and her body began to morph in ungodly ways. Her height rose an inch and her slim body began to widen out, mass impossibly forming at her core. Her pink hair receded and exchanged its vibrant hue for dark black. Her eyes vanished into green orbs and on her brow there stood a scar. Harry muttered a quiet obscenity as he stared into a perfect replica of himself.

_That's what I look like?_

Harry hadn't remembered the last time he had stared into a mirror. His hair was even more unruly than before. His eyes seemed dimmer and beneath them were great half circles in his skin. His mouth was unusually thin and his whole face looked sunken in some way. It was an unnerving reflection that he'd rather not have seen. But perhaps it was better that he had seen.

"A little worse for wear, I guess," muttered Harry.

The other Harry laughed. "Trust me, it could be worse."

Harry then morphed again. His height grew and white hair erupted from his chin into long wisps. His sunken eyes grew more sunken and shone a bright blue while his hair, now greying white fell about his shoulders. Harry gasped at his Headmaster.

"Now _this_," grumbled Dumbledore. "This is the body of a century old man! Ugh. What do you think a hundred years have done to his nether regions?"

Harry found himself grimacing and laughing despite himself. Dumbledore looked surly.

"Now," Dumbledore grumbled, "what about…"

Dumbledore became Hagrid who became Flitwick and then McGonagall. Harry couldn't help but grin at this absurd show. McGonagall looked a bit pensive for a moment and then slowly transformed again – shrinking this time. Harry saw thin hair turn thick, frizzled and…_bushy_.

_Bushy? Bushy hair? Like…._

Harry leapt from his seat in horror.

"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted.

Tonks paused mid transformation and looked like some gangly creature. She returned to her pink hair and plump face with another strange look in her eyes. Harry brushed them aside. He wanted answers. He was furious.

"What the hell was that Tonks?" he demanded loudly. His arms were shaking now and he threw down his own mug with more force than desired. It shattered against the floor.

Any humor in the moment had vanished and tension now hung thick between the two.

"She wasn't the first person to have hair like that, and she won't be the last," Tonks spoke quietly.

"Damn it, Tonks!" he cried in anger – anger so deep he was trembling from it. "You don't fucking _do_ something like that after…after…"

Words failed him and he held his head in his shaking hands, trying to pry from his memory the horrid picture he had witnessed moments before. This was so wrong.

_What the fuck is wrong with her?_

He breathed heavily and for her part Tonks was showing signs of regret.

"You told me you had gotten over this," Tonks said slowly. "I needed to see if-"

"OF COURSE I HAVEN'T FUCKING GOTTEN OVER IT!" Harry screamed at the Auror, al his senses now burning in fury. He was erupting from hatred he had been brewing for some days now.

Words now spilled from Harry's mouth absent of his will. "HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO GET OVER THIS?" he bellowed at Tonks. "EVERYONE around me is dead! My friends – oh god, my friends whose only crime was befriending me, died for _my_ sake! Mrs. Weasley treated me like her own son! The _one_ wizarding family who had shown me unconditional kindness! Ginny was only thirteen! And Sirius! WHAT THE HELL DID HE DO? HE WAS INNOCENT – FROM ALL OF THIS!"

Tonks said nothing. And Harry could not stop – he needed to expel all these words lest they rip him apart inside.

"And you have the fucking _gall_ to stand in front of me and show me the face of my friend, smiling and happy as if nothing happened!" Harry roared. "IS THIS SOME SORT OF JOKE TO YOU? You're…YOU'RE FUCKING SICK!"

He spun swiftly avoiding the apologetic look on Tonks' face. He felt as if the anger inside him would boil the blood within his veins. He ripped open the door and took off once more – down the streets, past the houses, into the fields and beyond the oak trees. He expelled a feral roar and tightened his fists painfully.

"What the hell am I doing?" he whispered.

_I'm still falling the endless fall._

He cursed. His stomach lurched uncomfortably and he once again felt as if he was plummeting through the surface of the earth at ungodly speeds whilst wind and fire roared in his ears, drowning out his screams. It was a fall that would last millennia and he went ever faster. And felt ever sicker.

All the faces he had buried in these past days rushed back to him, clearer and more morose than before. He had not truly ever been thinking about what he had to do. Rather that question had only served as an outlet, a distraction from his anguish and his loss. Harry thought he could power through this – thought he could forge on ahead like a raging bull. If he had cut a deep enough path ahead, maybe these grievances would fall aside. But he had been fooling himself. He could not look forward until he gazed behind.

He had been tethering on the brink of despair – and now he had lost his balance and tumbled fresh into this black pool of sorrow. He cursed himself. He was not over the loss of his friends. How could he be? It was so fresh, their faces so innocent. And he now stood alone on a precipice where below lay the corpses of all those he loved.

"Why did they have to die?" he hissed violently. "Why do they always die? God damn it, why can't everyone give me a FUCKING BREAK!"

_Maybe I _am_ a highly disturbed and dangerous criminal after all._

He was back to square one – in the same ditch he thought he'd crawled out of. Before figuring out what to do about the Triads he had to do something about these memories – these dead things floating on the margins of his mind like phantoms. He was losing it – losing this battle for lucidity. He was worming through this meandering muck of self-pity and defeatism. They were ashes now – all of them, reduced to dust in the night wind because of a wretched sun that shone with the moon. He would never see their true faces again. There would be no bodies for the funeral, if there ever were to be a funeral. He had to shake this from him.

_Damn it, I have to come to terms with this_. _Tonks is right. I can't keep doing this…can't keep running away whenever I see someone who even remotely looks like Hermione…or Ron…or Sirius_

But how? His thoughts strayed back to the village, to the memories and finally to the cemetery. There somewhere laid two bodies – put to rest more than fifteen years ago. Harry decided then and there, what he had to do. He had to see _them_. He had to see their graves – he had to understand their deaths…or maybe understand why he understood their deaths. He needed whatever he had done to come to terms with his parents' deaths and mournfully do the same to his friends.

_But what was it?_ He would wonder.

He couldn't deny that he had already eschewed common sense. And he could not readily explain to others why he did what he did or how the thoughts in his mind made sense to him. But he felt the pull towards the cemetery and it threw one foot in front of the other. Harry emerged from the oaks, determined to find the resting place of Lily and James Potter. He mastered the streets until he met his goal.

A sudden solemnness came upon Harry as the familiar black gates to the cemetery came into view. He tried to shake off this apprehension – from what source he could not fathom. A wisp of red caught his eye and he craned his neck to see the frightened look of a girl. It was the same girl from before.

_It's _that_ girl!_

She met his gaze for but a moment and quickly turned away, intent on getting out of his sight. Harry felt a tug of regret and pondered over stopping her. But still she was wearing that face – that face he could not bear to see.

"Wait!" he resolved to shout.

Her pace slowed and she looked back at him, though not at his eyes thankfully. Harry swallowed deeply. He had no idea what he was doing. He seemed intent on stepping towards her and approaching but found his feet glued to the ground for what reason he already knew why. He hated this girl.

So they stood apart, separated by some distance and the light fog that had descended down in the late afternoon. Harry saw her rock back and forth on the balls of her feet for a moment before stepping towards him. One step, two step and then three and four until she was before him. Still he did not look at her, resolving instead to look at her shoes.

"Do you not like the look of me?" she asked him quietly.

Harry's mouth went dry. What was he supposed to say to that? "I…I don't think you're…ugly or anything. You _are_ pretty of…attractive."

She was silent for a moment. "You didn't answer my question, _Just_ Harry. Do you not like the look of me?"

The odd prefix to his name did not disturb him in the least, and Harry wondered why. Moreover, he tried to figure out how to answer her question. He started with the truth.

"No," he whispered, his head hung low. "No I don't."

In her right hand was a long drooping summer hat. She moved and placed it on her head, the white rims drooping low to cover her eyes and hair.

"Better?"

Harry bit his tongue. He was ashamed to make this pretty girl cover her face, merely because he was too weak to face the truth. But he knew he could not stand her presence without her masking that hair. He nodded apologetically.

"I…" he started. "I'm sorry for shouting at you."

"That's alright," she whispered, her lips curving to a warm smile. "I often shout at myself."

Harry looked back to the cemetery, now covered in a dreamlike mist. He shuddered for reasons beyond him.

"Have you been in there?" he asked her, ignoring how stupid he must have sounded.

_Of course she's been there, idiot. She LIVES here._

"No," she said to him, earning her a look of shock on Harry's part.

"No?"

"No," she reaffirmed. "I don't think there's anything in there for me."

"But haven't you…" Harry murmured.

"Lost someone?" she offered. "Oh yes. Yes I have."

Harry looked away, confused and perturbed, fumbling for his next words. "I lost someone too."

She moved closer to him. "And what are you missing?"

Harry took a deep breath, the air intoxicating in its trance. "Everything," he whispered.

Wordlessly, he walked away from her, moving towards the gate, intent on telling himself he did not care whether she followed him in or not. But when he reached the gate, when his hand touched the cold bars of the entrance, he suddenly looked back. The girl was right behind him. He felt inexplicably comforted by this. Harry took another deep breath and goaded the door open, and stepped through.

Before him in the soft mist, laid a maze of inexplicably intricate and complex mounds of stone. The paved road wounded this way and that, making mesmerizing patterns of stony rivers. On opposing banks laid many silent gravestones.

"I'm…I'm looking for two headstones," Harry murmured.

_Why am I telling her this?_

"What are their names?" she asked.

Harry hesitated. "L-Lily and James…Potter."

She acknowledged this by bending low to read the engraved markings of the nearest tombstone. She shook her head slightly and straightened herself before walking to the next one. Harry wandered for a moment and did the same. The cemetery was a large place, probably the single largest thing in all of Godric's Hollow. They had spent many moments in quiet silence. The girl didn't ask what the two headstones meant to Harry and he was grateful for it.

"Did they pass away recently?" she asked him finally after a fruitless hour of search.

"No," Harry grunted, bending down to get a closer view at another. Benedict Jones, it said.

"No?"

Harry looked up at her. "Yeah. Why?"

She played with her hands nervously. "Only…your sadness seems very present."

Harry turned away quickly. "Yeah." And said no more.

Another hour passed. Every wrong gravestone Harry peered at made him more and more frustrated. This little escapade was bringing him no peace. It might be a giant waste of his own time, and the time of this poor girl he had strung along with him. He paused to look at the girl again, her hat obscuring most of her face while she bent over. He wanted to tell her to take off the humiliating hat but he knew he couldn't. He'd fly into another rage if he saw her. Still, it didn't feel right.

_I should try to get her name if I can't at least stop being a dick to her._

"What's you're name?" he asked her.

He could see her faintly smiling in the mist.

"Eleanor."

"_Just _Eleanor?"

"Just Eleanor."

They both seemed content with that and returned to searching for the Potter gravestone. But Harry was becoming more and more defeated with each passing moment. His eyes were glazed and he dragged his feet desperately.

"Can I ask you something Eleanor?"

Eleanor turned to him and nodded promptly. Harry took a breath.

"Who did you lose?" Harry asked, hoping to God it was not too forceful a thing to say.

There was a long silence in the mist. "My big brother," she answered him sadly.

Harry sucked in some of the foggy air. He couldn't stop here. If he couldn't at least find his parents' gravestones he at least had to get something out of this.

"When?" he pressed her, presently forgetting of his sensitivity to the situation.

Eleanor sighed and turned away. "Does it really matter?"

"Yes," Harry hissed immediately. "Of course it matters."

"Why?"

Harry opened and closed his mouth dumbly for some feeble attempts at words.

_Why couldn't I have picked a stupid girl?_

Harry thought hard again. The silence between them was not uncomfortable – rather it was quite fitting. The foggy scene made him shiver.

"Because," he said at last. "Because…because time heals all wounds."

The words came to him as naturally as breathing. Was that it then? Was it time he needed? Time to register the wounds, time to come to terms with it and time to resolve in himself the grief he felt nibbling away? No, he couldn't accept it. It seemed stupidly obvious, but his own answer was no luxury to Harry Potter. He didn't have time.

"No," she spoke urgently and Harry lurched back in surprise.

"No?"

"No," Eleanor repeated. "Time doesn't matter. Time doesn't heal wounds."

She seemed strangely adamant in this regard – a trait Harry had not yet seen from this queer girl. She started walking to another group of headstones and Harry quickly trailed behind her urgently.

"What do you mean, time doesn't matter?" he demanded strongly, walking in long strides to overtake her.

"If I were to think of my big brother today," Eleanor spoke softly. "And then think about him in a hundred years, what do you think would be different?"

"Time, obviously," Harry said immediately. "It would be a hundred years for you to deal with it and-"

"No!" she berated him in a harsh voice. Her tone then calmed significantly. "No. Time is inconsequential. It could've been one year, twenty years or a hundred years. Time is inconsequential. It's not _time_ that really changed, it's _me_ that's changed."

"But-but," stammered Harry incredulously. "You need _time_ to change!"

"_You _decide when you want to change – not time." Eleanor spoke cryptically.

Harry frowned at this. _Easier said than done_.

"So…time doesn't heal all wounds…we heal our own wounds," Harry repeated dumbly.

Eleanor nodded vigorously. Neither of them spoke for a moment. And then…

"That has got to be the most useless piece of advice I have ever heard," Harry spat in distaste. He walked away in frustration. For a moment he had actually thought the conversation was going somewhere fruitful. But no, leave it to this weird girl to bring about this anticlimax.

_What is this rubbish? We heal our own wounds? Bloody useless that is! Another second-rate philosopher! I just need to fix this! I don't need a goddamn philosophical lecture about the human temperament!_

Harry was beside himself now. He felt more lost and hopeless than ever. Worse still, these feelings of despair were crawling back to him, now that Tonks' little joke had blown back the doors of his ill contained grief. He was becoming a mess _again_!

Harry didn't say another word to Eleanor, but left her swiftly, running past and over some the headstones, paying no heed to how rude he had been to both the girl and the dead residents. He flew through the gates, berating himself in all manner of crude words and blew out hot air of frustration. Just when he thought he was making even the slightest bit of progress…here he was again.

He was getting nowhere.

Furious with himself, with the world and certainly with a certain pink-haired Auror, Harry returned once more, defeated and desperate into the house he wished never to see. Was some higher being taking the piss out of him?

More time passed by. More suns rose over his head and set, waxing a reddening sky in its wake. Harry began to notice things, or rather he forced himself to notice things – anything really. It was all he could do to refrain from slipping back into the pain that would leave him debilitated. He noticed at meals how Ted Tonks always seemed to have an answer to everything, despite his humble origins. He noticed how Ted always calmed a fuming daughter, how he took her sarcastic remarks in stride, and how he was ever the peacemaker in the household. He noticed Andromeda. He noticed the frostiness that the mother and daughter had never quite shaken. He noticed when Tonks only spoke to her when she had to, and even then it couldn't be considered an endearing show of love. He noticed how often Andromeda bickered about Tonks' exotic hair colors. He noticed how Tonks' gaze of impenetrable searching would sometimes flicker into a conflicted stare as she opened her mouth, wrestling with herself for an apology. But most of all Harry noticed how much they noticed _him_ – that no matter what he did, he was being watched very carefully. They thought he was some time bomb. Perhaps he was.

But even these paltry distractions could not dull the ache that had resumed in his heart. He _knew_ he shouldn't be like this – truly he knew. He _knew_ that Sirius and Ron and Hermione and Ginny and the twins and Mr and Mrs. Weasley would never want to see him like this – defeated after they had made the greatest sacrifice at all. He _knew_ he owed it to them to be more. But despite all this, it just _hurt_ so much. It was beyond physical and mental pain. It was the torture of his soul and everyday he felt it on fire, burning up the tinder of his core.

In those three days where Harry was relentlessly persecuted by the losses, he avoided the Auror all together, never saying more than a few words at any one time. He waited for her to apologize for such a cruel reminder of his pain but she never did. He left in the early morning to seek out the graves of his parents, knowing not exactly why he was doing it anymore. For in some ways it amplified his desperation like oil to fire. In other ways, it gave him some purpose, some goal he had to focus on. Yet he knew, this goal _had_ to be more than a distraction like last time. It had to _mean_ something. It had to fix him, to rid him of all the hurts. So he scoured the graveyard. Eleanor always was searching with him – though he did not speak to her as freely as before. His tongue was often tied up in his grieving thoughts and those he would _never_ share with her…or with anyone.

He had made a point to ask Andromeda to take him to the gravesite. When Harry had asked, she had shuddered terribly and broke into tears, only assuaged by the comforting embrace of her wise husband. She reacted similarly whenever Ted would call Harry, 'Mr. Potter'. Ted had subsequently only addressed Harry by name. Harry felt a sudden pang of guilt, but nothing compared to what he was truly feeling everyday. A look from Ted Tonks told him to leave it be, and so he did. His options were becoming exhausted. Eleanor didn't know what to look for and Andromeda would be reduced to a pool of tears before she could help him. He could only seek out help from one person. And he hated having to ask her.

He stood at the entryway to the living room. He could see Tonks there now, lying on her back whimsically and twirling her wand about her fingers absentmindedly as she stared at a painting hung on the wall. He took a deep breath before entering the fray.

However, she was the first to speak, not lifting her eyes. "Are you going to ask me to bring you to your parents' tombstones?"

Harry yelped audibly. _What does she know about that?_

"I know you've been looking for them," Tonks said plainly. "Don't give me that look! I wouldn't be a good guardian if I just let you wander about, would I? I've seen you in the cemetery, with that pretty little girl. But no matter how hard you search, you won't find what you're looking for."

"Tonks I want to go," Harry said firmly. "I want to go to my parents tombstones."

"Why?" Tonks asked instantly, her eyes not leaving the painting on the wall.

Harry was taken aback by her brusqueness. "Because…I dunno because I feel like I need to. Because that's what sons do for their deceased parents…I dunno…"

Tonks smiled grimly. "Harry, without any disrespect, I doubt your parents would care."

"_I_ care! I need to go," Harry insisted. "I need to see it. I need to understand it."

"They're just ruins, Harry," Tonks said to him in a soft voice. She moved herself into a sitting position and faced Harry with more attention now. "You're not going to understand what happened any better than you do now. You're not going to get any answers, you're not going to get any satisfaction and most of all you're not going to get any closure."

"It's not about that!" Harry insisted again, his voice rising rapidly and his hands in fists. _Why didn't this woman get it?_

"Then what is it about?" she asked plainly.

Harry opened and closed his mouth several times, feeling stupid and humiliated again. He reddened and racked his mind for something – anything – to say. "I just gotta go. I'm here and it's something I have to do."

_Lame fucking answer. Way to go Harry._

"That's not a reason for anyone to do anything," Tonks replied bluntly. "Don't think I don't understand because I do Harry. I know it hurts – it always has. And it was easier to forget when you never had any idea about your parents. But now that you're here, now that you are at the very place where they planned to make their lives, it's hard. It hurts being so close yet infinitely far away, and you'll never be able to close the distance…no matter how far you run."

Harry cursed inwardly and for the life of him he couldn't understand why he was feeling the tug at his tear ducts. He would not let himself cry in front of this bloody woman. God knows how much weakness she had already seen from him. He blinked rapidly, trying to banish these emotions but they struck him wave after wave like nausea in his heart. He sat down slowly on her bed beside Tonks, feeling his distress nearly palpable and his eyes begging to overflow. This woman was evil – bringing out all the things in Harry he wished not to see himself.

Tonks put a tentative hand on his knee. "But despite all this Harry _nothing_ is going to come of visiting them. And you know it too. It can't bring you closure Harry – only you can do that."

Harry violently shrugged batted away Tonks' hand.

"I…"Harry choked on his words. "I'm over their deaths…really I am. I had 15 bloody years to get over it. Done is done, dead is dead, I know this!"

He turned away as a river of salt and water cascaded down his cheek. Harry was straying, further and further from his goal. This wasn't about his parents! This was about Sirius and all of them! He wanted – no he _needed_ to get past Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, Fred, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley…Sirius. Instead he was trampling through an age-old cemetery with some stupid girl in search for his parents tombstones. He smacked himself on the inside. What was he doing?

_One last try, _he thought._ One last try and them I'm done for good. If I don't find anything this time…well, I'm never, ever going back there again._

He slunk out of the room silently, dodging a silent appeal from Tonks to stay. His feet carried him back to the mist where fading rays of gold were suspended in the low thin clouds above. It looked like paradise. But it felt like hell. Harry wrenched the cursed gate open. He searched for what seemed to be hours. He had to find something. He_ had _to. There had to be an explanation for all this! The sun had waned and night fell on the sky in silence. The mist now seemed more eerie than ethereal. Harry's shirt clung to his back drenched with sweat. His unruly hair was unkempt and wildly clinging to portions of his sweating face. He was an utter mess, searching for things buried sixteen years past and expecting enlightenment.

Harry went meticulously through the many places he had not yet visited, riffling through countless names, touching innumerable headstones, desperately seeking the right one. His eyes were bloodshot and tired. He wanted nothing more but to lie down in the damp grass. But he owed it to himself to continue. So his scour began anew. Then it happened, so suddenly that Harry thought his pounding heart would rip from his chest. His throat constricted and he felt the coils around him tighten. His eyes widened and his breath labored to keep a steady pace. A silent mouth was open and Harry couldn't utter a sound. He had found it. He had found the two small polished stones that rose above the earth. For a moment he was rooted in place, fearful to go but loathed to stay. With trembling legs he approached the tombstones apprehensively.

_This is it! _He would scream to himself. _This is it!_

Harry knelt low in shallow breaths and peered at the engravings.

**Lily Potter**

**1960-1981**

**Daughter, Wife, Mother**

**James Potter**

**1960-1981**

**Son, Husband, Father**

Harry stopped breathing and stared at the gravestones of his mother and father in a reverie of silence that lasted both seconds and lifetimes. His brow furled and his mouth went dry. Seconds passed, then minutes, then many minutes. He couldn't believe it. He simply could not believe it. They were plain grey stones with bare engravings without any words of wisdom, familial motto or anything beyond what they intended to be.

They were utterly unremarkable.

It took a moment. And then dreadful sense of hollow defeat swallowed him whole.

"This is it?" Harry nearly shouted. "This is _it_? This is all there is? No…no, no, no, no. This _can't_be it! This…THIS CAN'T BE ALL THERE IS!"

Like a wild dog he groveled in the dirt, touching the tombstone. He moved his hands all over, minding every crevice, nook and cranny.

"There _has_ to be something else! A message? Magic? Anything. ANYTHING!"

But there was nothing else. There was no warm feeling in him, no reminiscent reminder of familial love, no encouragement on how to go on. It was just a couple of polished stones. And Harry was just a boy shivering in a sea of mist. Everything around him was exactly as it was before. Nothing had changed. Nothing was different.

And it broke Harry. It broke him in ways he could not understand. He was so entirely certain that there would be something at the end of this journey, some small token left behind, or at least somewhere in the sky, courage that would bless him as he stared on the resting place of his parents. But there was no magic here, just a pair of cold stones, side by side on looking more stones atop a green hill.

"Tonks was right," Harry began to sob on his knees. "She was right all along. There's nothing here."

He swayed back on his feet. "THERE'S NOTHING HERE!" he screamed with all his might, though he was lost on whom he was directing his anger towards.

"NOTHING!" he bellowed. "NOTHING AT ALL!"

Blinking out the tears, he fumbled away, ripe with emotions, most of which he could not describe, but one which was clear in his heart – it was the bitter fruit of disappointment and it would not soon be washed away. He had been delusional. It was only a grave. Just a grave. A grave whose owners had long since perished away from the earth. Why did he think there would be some monumental change to him here?

_You idiot! You fucking idiot! _Harry screamed at himself.

Drunk on a passion of uncontrollable emotions he stumbled out of the cemetery in similar fashion to drunkards that were now roaming other streets of the village. Harry laid one hand on the side of a building to keep him steady. But his shoulders shook and he could not stop his head from shaking side-to-side, in a perpetual state of denial and distress.

_Now I'm lost_._ I am completely utterly lost._

"Just Harry?" spoke a soft voice.

Harry spun rapidly, the barrage of emotions betraying his face in front of the strange girl that had silently approached him. She touched his elbow and he shuddered at its feeling. He felt so far away from everyone.

"Are you okay?" she whispered to him.

He took in the sight of her and his eyes began to water. He turned his head away.

"Oh, I forgot," she said, raising a familiar summer hat over her brow.

"I'm…sorry, Eleanor," Harry managed to mutter hoarsely. The suffocating chains around his neck began to tighten considerably. "It's…it's just…"

"I take it you found what you were looking for?" Eleanor spoke to him tenderly.

Harry paused and then shook his head rigorously. "No. I didn't find anything."

"But the tombstones-"

"Are just tombstones, Eleanor," Harry interrupted harshly. He laughed cruelly. "There was nothing for me in there. Just like you."

He felt isolated, and desperation clung on his back like a tiny demon. He shook his head to try and clear his thoughts. He just wanted it all to end. Harry's mind screamed on the inside to just get rid of this myriad of grievances. Move on, he told himself, _move on_. But he couldn't. Whatever power was at work rooted him firmly in place, no matter how hard he tried to tear away from it. He was sobbing now, for reasons beyond comprehension. Harry was so frustrated he felt he could tear down the building before him – brick by brick and still his fury would not be sated. He wanted the world to burn and match the flames in his heart. Heat, hatred, confusion, desolation, desire.

Harry needed to know he wasn't alone. He had to get through this. His parents were dead and they couldn't help him. Two stones on a green hill couldn't help him. Tonks sure as hell wasn't going to help him. He was no longer thinking straight. Sanity had fled from him along with his friends.

He grabbed Eleanor's shoulder forcefully and her hat tumbled away. Lacking in all gentleness or consideration, Harry pressed her against a wall, ignoring her troubled looks and her muted surprise. He firmly pressed his lips against hers. It was not exactly how he imagined his first kiss would be.

But right now he didn't give a damn.

He pressed forward forcefully. It was neither lust he felt nor passion, but it was an intoxicating effect that made him desire more. It felt good. It was desire on a level so far beyond romantic or friendly engagements. He was not so much feeling her lips as he was feeling _her_, another person – a _living_ person. Harry knew this was not a sexually exciting affair, and he made it plain in his mind that he never intended it to be. He deepened the kiss and his hands made their way to Eleanor's neck where he cupped her face.

It was only then when he noticed she was not kissing him back. That set him off like a light bulb and he recoiled suddenly, disgusted with himself for all the cruel ways he had already treated Eleanor and now for this final humiliation to her. He swallowed hard and retreated quickly, nauseated by what he had done to her.

"I..I," Harry stammered desperately. "I'm sorry…I didn't mean for that to happen…really…It's just…I-I'm not right in the head at the moment and…"

She silenced him a wave of the hand, while the other touched her violated lips. "It's alright Harry. You…I suppose you're going through quite the rough patch."

Harry could only grimace. He had half-expected her to scream and call bloody murder.

"You probably should refrain from doing that again, though," she added softly.

Harry winced and nodded vigorously, not meeting her eyes more now because of his shame than because of the memories. They were not standing very close, and Harry wholly understood why. In his haze of emotions he had betrayed her. He had been overcome by this train of sentiments that left him dazed, confused and without hope. Harry was all too aware of how he had abused this innocent girl in his moment of weakness.

"What happened?" Eleanor asked, though the reserve in her voice was plain for all to hear. "What did you find?"

Harry took a shaky breath. "I found…I found exactly what I was looking for…and nothing at all. I just…I just don't know what to do."

_This is pathetic._

I _am pathetic._

"I just can't understand," Harry mumbled. "And I've got no one to help me. No one's left except…except bloody Tonks. And she's no help at all…"

"It's not the help of others that you need," Eleanor said to him. "Maybe this is something you have to deal with on your own."

"Bu how?" Harry cried. "I…how did _you_ deal with it?"

Eleanor looked thoughtful. "I told myself that my big brother wouldn't want me to be like this."

"I know that!" Harry said tersely. "But what about the pain? The pain!"

"I told myself I wasn't responsible for his death."

"I know that!" Harry said again, incensed. "I'm not talking about the pain of feeling responsible! I'm just talking about _pain – _the simple pain of loss. You know…the pain that they're not here anymore…that I…that I'll never see them again. I…I miss them…I miss them so much it tears me apart inside. How do you deal with that?"

Eleanor looked sympathetic. "Oh Harry…I…I can't tell you that."

"Why not?" he demanded tearfully. "Why can't some one lend me a bloody hand?"

"For once," he whispered.

Silence loomed like the night sky over them. And not even the winds were at work.

"Because it's your loss to rise from – on your own two feet," Eleanor whispered to him. She slowly bent low, and laid a tender kiss on the top of his head. He felt disgusted. He didn't deserve this kindness after what he had done. He felt unworthy, dirty. "I can't pull you up, Harry. Just like you couldn't pull me up. We…we have to get up by ourselves. Or…or we'll never grow."

Harry shook hard on the inside. She was right, he knew it deep in his heart. And Tonks was right as well. This had been a mistake, all of it. Another dead end.

"Listen…are you going to be okay?" Eleanor asked him.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. He felt Eleanor pass her fingers through his dark hair. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. And she was gone, as quickly as she came. Harry sat slowly on pavement, thudding his head rhythmically against the building.

"I _have _to do it," Harry whispered to himself. "_I_ have to do it."

_This is something I have to do. Me. Alone. I won't wait for time to sort this out for me. I won't jump to the next task, hoping this will go away on its own. I won't go looking for sentimental memorabilia to enlighten me. I won't be distracted – I won't hide from this. This is my loss…my moment…my strength._

And then Harry realized quite rapidly. He didn't _just_ need to move on.

Burning Day was over.

He needed to rise.

* * *

**Author's Note: I'm guessing this is chapter is a far cry from what some were expecting. But for me the problem with writing a mature Harry Potter story using the titled character is that I require a mature Harry. I've read some stories that cleverly achieve this with some careful plot points, magic and only a couple lines of dialogue. However, for me, the adventure tale waiting to happen is predicated on Harry's character arc into maturity so it is important that I take my time with it and do it as realistically as I can.**

**In all fairness, I did try to cram this into one chapter, but I figured there was too much angst and development to cover so I split it. This chapter and the next will be a bit slow paced as I really delve into Harry's character. This chapter may not necessarily suit your fancy, but I consider it probably the single most important chapter in the entire story yet to come.**

**Please let me know what you think! I welcome all reviews, brief, in depth or flames. Thanks. **


	3. Reflection

**Chapter 2: Reflection**

Harry wanted nothing more but collapse into bed and collect his thoughts in the blissfulness of his dreamscape. He needed to escape this little pity-party, and quick. Sleep offered the quickest way out. It was dark in the guest room, and Harry didn't bother to turn it on. He was about to collapse on the bed into a desired sleep when a flash of pink hair in the moonlight alerted him to the Auror's presence. She was sitting on his bed, playing with her wand nervously.

_I just want to sleep. I don't want another goddamn fight._

"Harry," sighed Tonks, running a hand through her hair. "We…we should talk about yesterday."

Harry tensed. He was sure this was a conversation he did not want to have.

"Listen," Tonks sighed again. "That whole deal with me transforming into Hermione – that was unworthy of me. I didn't-"

"Not now Tonks," Harry cut her off, already making for the door, ready to escape into the night again. "I don't want to hear about that."

Out of the corner of her eye, Tonks' hair turned a deadly orange hue.

"Are you fucking kidding me!" Tonks burst out furiously.

Harry paused at the door. His mind swirled briefly in confusion before he turned back to her in his own profound rage. Thank goodness the rooms were charmed silent from the outside.

"What the fuck is you problem with me?" Harry snapped. "Have I done something to offend you? Or are you just a bitch to everyone!"

"_My_ problem?" Tonks let out an exasperated curse. "My problem is...

Tonks paced furious to and fro trying to work off steam. Her hair was alternating between snow white and jet black. Under her breath, Harry could hear her growling like an animal about to strike.

"You know…" started Tonks, eyes wild and untamable. "No…no you're right."

Harry was sure he hadn't heard her properly.

"You're right," she laughed harshly. "It's not your fault. It's Sirius' fault."

The room went cold. Harry could almost see his enraged breath exhaling in the air. Dementors had nothing on this. He found himself hating this Auror more and more.

"What did you say?" Harry whispered, his words laced with venom.

Tonks sighed exasperatedly. "Believe it or not, Harry, I knew Sirius better than you did. We were…well we were pretty close – he being my only magical family besides my parents."

"How is any of this _Sirius_' fault?" Harry demanded in a raised voice.

"Naturally he was quite fond of you," Tonks muttered as if she hadn't heard Harry. "You were the _only_ thing he ever talked to me about last year. All this about being the spitting image of your father, how brave you were, your steel tenacity and how mature you were for a thirteen year old. And you know what?"

Tonks glared at Harry. "I actually believed him."

Harry shot the glare right back at the Auror. "If you want to say something, just say it _Nymphadora_."

Her eyebrow noticeably twitched upon the mentioning of her name. But she wouldn't let him set her off that easily. At her mother's order, she was laying it all out for this little brat, hoping she'd find who she was promised.

She exhaled deeply. "I tried to give you space. I know that when I went through something serious, all I wanted was for people to leave me alone so I could deal with it like I had dealt with everything else – on my own. And then…then I saw you self-destructing. My father came to me after the first night. He told me '_now listen hear my girl, you're one of a kind, you know. But not everyone is built like you – certainly not Harry. He can't deal with this stuff the same way you did.'_"

Tonks did not let Harry avert her eyes. Her own bore the intensity of absolute openness. Harry could not doubt for a second that she was telling anything but the truth. "My father's a smart man. And he had a point. So I said to myself '_fine_'. I then I tried setting you off – blowing the bomb early so it didn't do so at a later time. I tried to get you to confront this problem head on. Well, suffice to say, that _blew up in my face_ I suppose, since you're still erupting even as we speak!"

Harry was frowning now, but his anger was tamed for the moment as he listed to the Auror.

"Then on my mother's begging, I tried to engage – tried to help," Tonks continued. "I _warned_ you, the tombstones wouldn't help. I _tried_ to help you along – tried to get you to think for yourself. And I guess that didn't work out either."

_When the hell did Tonks ever try to help me?_

"So here I am," Tonks, let her exasperated arms fall to her sides. "Trying to apologize for a callous mistake. And you want to run away? Like an angry brat? You…you're _nothing_ like Sirius described! I was supposed to be protecting you! Not babysitting you!"

"Shut…up Tonks!" Harry finally exploded. "Just shut up!"

"Both Sirius, Remus _and_ Dumbledore lauded your talents and your exceptional maturity so I've tried to treat you like an adult – really I've _tried _my hardest. but it's become painfully apparent to me, just within a few days, that you are still just a child!"

"I am _not_ a child!" Harry fumed.

"You think you're entitled to classified Order information," Tonks yelled. "And you throw a small tantrum claiming you have _the right to know everything_. And when we finally do tell you what you want to hear, you throw a fit and storm out of the house. You rage and brood for days but you don't ever resolve anything. From the stories about you, I had high hopes. I expected to find a _man_. I found a _boy_ instead."

"Fuck you," Harry lashed out. "You told me that my godfather and my friends just died! How was I supposed to react?"

"You were supposed to react like the man you are supposed to be!" cried Tonks. "Your friends died! But the world didn't bloody end! You've had your fair share of loss, I thought you would know how to deal with it!"

"I've got no one left!" Harry yelled. He almost felt like hitting her, though he knew even if he tried, he'd be on his back reeling from a spell. There was a creeping fear that he was losing this battle of words.

"Are you looking for my pity?"

"No but-"

"Do you think your rage will bring them back?"

"No but-"

"Would they be pleased to see what their noble sacrifice has bought?"

"NO BUT-"

"But nothing." Tonks backed away to the window and shook her head in frustration. "You're not ready, plain and simple."

"_Ready_?" started Harry heatedly. "What the hell does _ready_ have to do with…I've done loads more than any of-"

"So what!" Tonks snapped sharply. Harry's ire was palpable. Would this woman not give him a moment of breath? "Basilisk slayer, Patronus aficionado, Triwizard champion and all that. So what? Surviving peril doesn't make you a man! All those sticky situations you got yourself into in school, they were forced on you. By designs other than your own, you found yourself in these events. But this isn't a classroom in Hogwarts! This is real life, Harry, devoid of all the normality and safety you once knew. Luck and sound protection has gotten you this far – no further."

"You're going to have to make choices now – to stay or to go, to kill or to spare. What happens if one day your rashness leads you to attempt some folly thing and others suffer because you didn't have the level-headedness to make the right decision? What happens when others die because you couldn't control yourself? _This_ right here is the choice that must be made. You need to tell me _now_ if you are ready. I know it must be a hard pill to swallow as a fifteen year old but by your own admission, you've never been just any fifteen year old, have you? Set aside the boy, set aside the whining and set aside the self-pity. Put plainly, Harry, you've got to _grow up_. You hear me? You've got to grow. The. Fuck. Up."

Harry was left without words. He so dearly wished he had some witty comeback to shoot at Tonks and relieve himself of the embarrassingly inadequate feeling. He made fists in his pockets. _She's wrong. She's just wrong. She doesn't know anything about me._ He glared at her angrily, though he didn't know how to put his thoughts into words. _She doesn't understand. How could she? She has a good job, nice family…what do I have? She doesn't have the right to talk to me about loss!_ His face was flushed with anger and it was taking every bit of his discipline to not lash out at the infuriating Auror.

"I intend to go after the Triads," Tonks said after a while. "And I still have to keep you safe. After what I've seen from you…I can't do both at the same time. I can't rely on you. I can't trust you not to do something stupid."

She walked out of the room, leaving Harry confused and angry. He always felt this way after talking to the Auror. _How is she consistently able to make me feel like shit?_

But he brooded deeply over her words, though his pride still refused to admit she was on to something. He tried to ignore the fact that she seemed to hit the nail on the head. His childhood days were nearing their end. Did he have it within him to take the next step? At fifteen years of age? Could he cast aside all his vices? Dumbledore? Indecisiveness? Hot-headedness? Was he prepared for any of this?

So he laid in bed and sleep refused to come to him. He had stared at the same spot in the ceiling for several hours and to no avail. He could recall the entire conversation word for word and repeated it in his mind over and over and over again. His anger towards the Auror was subsiding. She'd been trying to help him this whole time. And he had lashed out at every opportunity, unable – still unable – to reconcile his pain. His distaste of the Auror became the distaste of himself.

_Enough of this._

Harry got up suddenly, aching to relieve his parched throat. In the last few days he had been doing so much yelling and screaming that he was amazed his throat had lasted this long. A cold glass of water would do wonders for his pained throat. He began to fumble around in the dark before he heard faint whisperings and voices. He rounded the corner down the stairwell and saw the kitchen illuminated in dim lights. One voice was deep and powerful while the other was young and edgy. Slowly but surely, Harry descended step by step, trying to get a glimpse of this late night meeting. He had entered the middle of the conversation.

"Thanks for the help, Kingsley," sighed a familiar feminine voice. " I thought I might get into some serious trouble for a moment."

"I _did_ have to confund Gerald," spoke a tall dark-skinned man. "Guess you owe me one, Tonks. You're lucky you're so junior. You might not have been able to get away with this otherwise."

Tonks stuck out her tongue. "I guess so. So…Snape? Are you sure?"

Harry saw a tall dark-skinned man nod solemnly. "I wouldn't have guessed it either. I'm…I'm sorry about Moody. He was one tough son of a bitch and a hell of an Auror."

"Me too," Tonks replied fiercely. "When we find these bastards we're going to make them pay."

Kingsley gave her a very deep look as far as Harry could tell. There were distinct traces of panic and distress. "Tonks, now is not the time. You've got to get Harry out of the country. You must have read about the Auror orders. We're coming for Harry with a directive straight from the minister."

Tonks snorted. "Yeah, I read it. What the hell is Scrimgeour thinking putting Dark Wizard Hunters on a schoolboy! That is _way_ overstepping his mandate."

"It's more complicated than that," hushed the other man. "Unspeakables were able to determine that the spell that killed Harry's cousin was likely Chinese. That's making Scrimgeour all the more determined to seize Harry before the Chinese cause a scene about stolen magic."

Tonks swore.

"Harry's got to leave Britain. I'll be here with the Order in two days. Dumbledore has given us a Portkey for you and Harry. We don't know where it goes, though McGonagall thinks the boy is being sent across the Atlantic. But if that doesn't work out, you've got to think about your own extraction. I'd make for the Pyrenees – fewer magical wards there. From there you can swing over to Seville and wait until you hear news from us."

"How on earth can we cross the channel?" Tonks replied exasperatedly. "Mom must know Harry is likely to try and flee the country."

"I still have friends at Quantus," murmured Shaklebolt. "They can get you on a 10 second Portkey, no documentation, no questions asked."

"So what? Harry and I are just going to enjoy the Spanish beaches for god knows how long waiting until mom comes to her senses?"

"Tonks, you don't understand, things are getting dangerous for Harry. Mom anticipates strong pressure from the ICW, no doubt goaded on by the Chinese. They want to know what Potter stole to invoke a Sino spell. Fudge is sending bloody Aurors after him! And these Triads you talk about, they're dangerous…dangerous enough to take out some of the best of us. And Voldemort is still out there, doing something. You have to leave the country. Spain is the closest country without an extradition agreement with us. And it's probably the only country you can reach in time before international authorities catch up to you."

"Damn it, Shaklebolt," whispered Tonks, "you saw what they did to Moody! To me! Dumbledore's going to need everyone he's got to deal with these Triads. I'm not going to just work on my tan in the meanwhile!"

"The boy is the priority, you know this Tonks," Shaklebolt chastised. "What are you suggesting? You want to leave the boy and go fight the good fight? You swore to protect him!"

Tonks fidgeted, eyes downcast. "I don't have to leave him anywhere."

Harry couldn't see, but he could almost sense Shaklebolt went from grim to ludicrous – much to Harry's chagrin.

"You think he's ready?" Kingsley asked. "For Merlin's sake, the boy is fifteen! He's spent his whole life in Muggle care or Dumbledore's."

"You know what he's done…"

_Was Tonks actually defending him?_

"Yes, he's done things," Kingsley admitted. "And yes he has done things that even the best of us might not be able to do. But he's still a child, Tonks. Being lucky, rebellious and ill-fated doesn't mean anything out here. Look me in the eye and tell me he's ready to kill. Tell me he's ready to have our backs without the constant watch of Dumbledore or Lily – bless her soul – to protect him."

There was a silence. "He's not ready," Harry heard Tonks admit, with a sigh.

"I know you'd rather avenge Moody," Shaklebolt spoke apologetically. "But right now we've got to do what Moody and Dumbledore would have wanted. Keep the boy safe."

Harry had retreated as soon as he heard the farewell platitudes. They were brief and grim and as the big Auror stepped out the door, Tonks closed the door, breathing deep, no doubt suppressing the frustration. She wanted to be in the fight. _Harry_ wanted to be in the fight.

_What is holding us back?_

The following day, as the sun rose, Harry was aggressively shaken from slumber. Harry lifted his head from his pillow, to see Tonks straddling him in a more than compromising position.

"Ugh," he mumbled groggily as Tonks grin widened.

"Rise and shine," she spoke loudly, throwing off his blankets.

She did not act as if yesterday's fight had ever happened – or the many fights before that.

"I was using those, thanks," Harry grumbled. "What's put you in such a fine mood?"

"Your stay at Godric's Hollow is officially done," Tonks declared. "Come on, the Order is moving you in a few days. We've got to get you ready."

Harry groaned and fumbled for a spare shirt Ted had loaned him. "Because you've been doing _loads_ to get me ready so far."

Tonks fell silent at this and Harry saw from the corner of his eye, her face fall slightly. He almost wanted to apologize. Almost. But she shook it off easily enough. Harry did feel as if he should be apologizing – it ate at him in terrible ways. Tonks seemed to have forgotten, or chose to forget, their argument of the previous night.

_Maybe she's given up on me. Maybe I _am_ nothing but a fifteen year old kid needing protection – playing at being a man._

And this was the painful realization, he was not a man, nor had he ever been. He was a little boy clinging to the idea that this war would be without sacrifice and without pain, or at the very least he would have a host of allies ready to absorb punishment on his behalf. It was the naïve notion that this was merely a bump in the road, something Harry looked at more gravely than any others, but still a mountain with a road down, not a cliff sheared above an ungodly height. This would be a war. It would be costly. And already before his fifteenth birthday Harry had received a taste of what was to come. But what more had he to lose?

_There is always more to lose._ He told himself.

She almost dragged him down the stairs. Coffee was already fragrant in the air and Ted and Andromeda were enjoying the morning. They looked so perfect – so content, a simple Muggle and a great beauty of a Pureblood. Humility and pride joined at the hip.

"Well we're off!" Tonks spoke cheerfully.

"Where to?" asked Andromeda sharply.

"The Order is coming to relieve you of Harry in a few days. We're just going to swing by Diagon Alley for a bit."

"Is that wise?" Andromeda whispered. "Harry is…well…you know…"

"A highly disturbed and dangerous criminal?" Harry offered but he bore a thin grin.

"Yes, that," Andromeda smiled.

"We'll be fine mum," Tonks rolled her eyes. "Back in time for supper."

Ted gave Harry a warm smile. Harry grinned back genuinely. For all the anguish that was going on outside, he could count on men like Ted to keep everything grounded – even with a simple reassuring smile. Tonks grabbed a few pieces of toast, shoving it into Harry's mouth and her own. Her mood would not be dampened, it seemed.

As he thought about it, Harry was also in a pleasant mood, though no less confused. They were both going to get out of Godric's Hollow for the first time in many days. Tonks approached the fireplace with Harry. Then she stopped and turned to him, eyeing him up and down.

"Hmm," Tonks murmured. "Lets see then. I think I'll go with the curvy brunette today."

Her form rose a few inches while her eyes turned a pale hazel and her bosom expanded. Other parts of her began to shift strangely until Harry was eyeing a very attractive brunette standing before him. Tonks stared at the mirror beside Harry, observing her own handiwork.

"Not bad," she commented. "Whaddaya think Harry? Shag worthy?"

"Is that what we're here for?"

"Oh cheer up, scar-face," Tonks replied. "Come here, it's your turn."

She waved her wand in deliberate motions. He felt his forehead tingle and then grow hot. He rubbed his forehead and found it smooth – no scar present. Tonks shoved a potion into his hand. It had an ill-favored look, and Harry had a feeling he knew what it was.

"It's not mum's finest batch, but it'll do I suppose," mused Tonks brightly. "Go on then. Bottoms up. Soon you'll be sporting a bit of a beer belly and a little scruff, I expect."

Harry grimaced and drank the Polyjuice potion obediently. He had to stop himself from gagging as the liquid hit his tongue. Immediately he felt the changes and his stomach lurched uncomfortably. Tonks tucked several more vials of Polyjuice into her bag snuggly. Tonks seemed rather excited to get under way. She grabbed a handful of Floo powder and carefully placed it in Harry's now larger open palm.

"But why are we going to Diagon Alley?" Harry insisted.

"To get you a wand of course!" Tonks replied hastily. "Don't say I don't do anything for you, Harry. Soon you'll be sipping an Agua de Seville on a nice warm beach – not like these ugly overcast ones we have here. Or maybe you'll be in America. I've never been myself – wonder how it's like across the pond? Anyhow, come on, now! Leaky Cauldron!" And she went up in flames.

Harry shook his head at the Auror's unbridled morning energy. However he couldn't deny the great excitement in him as well. He was finally getting out of Godric's Hollow. He hadn't a mind to come back any time soon once he was finally out for good.

"Maybe fetch me some magical history book while you're there!" called Ted. "I feel a bit lacking in inspiration at the moment. Oh – oh and Andy could use some Cauldron Cleaner. 'Honestly dear, all you need is some elbow grease!'"

Harry grinned. "I'll see what I can do! Leaky Cauldron!"

The world spun and was wreathed in green flames for a moment before Harry found himself face down on the floor of a familiar pub. Tonks giggled at the sight his crumpled form. Harry righted himself with some dignity. He remembered this place. There were good memories here – a good summer. In fact his best summer was spent here. Harry almost yelled to Tom behind the bar then reminded himself that he was not Harry Potter at the moment.

He followed Tonks down to the brick wall, past the eyes of some early rising beer enthusiasts. Wolf whistles followed Tonks as she went.

"Come over here, darling!" one said.

"Maybe later sweetheart," Tonks replied with more than enough sugar in her voice. She winked at him and proceeded onwards.

"Isn't it a bit early for flirting?" Harry sighed.

Tonks shot him a look of mock indignation. "It is _never_ to early for that."

The pair came to the wall. A few taps of the wand, and they were in. The heart of magical Britain opened up before Harry and never had he seen a more welcomed sight. The early hour had given way to a thin crowd this morning. He had to remind himself again, that he wasn't actually here. If it had been Harry bloody Potter strolling through Diagon Alley, it would have been more than a little lively.

"So…Ollivander's?" Harry offered.

"No, no," Tonks laughed. "You get free room and board but the rest is on you. Being an Auror pays well enough, but wands are expensive you know? We'll stop by Gringotts first – unfortunately. Shame to see a good day have to start with the bloody goblins."

They strolled leisurely down the street. It pained Harry greatly to know he could never do this in his own appearance – not until all this mess was sorted out. He had to get his mind on something else.

"Not a fan of Goblins I take it?" he spoke lightly.

Tonks snorted. "Anybody with a any of gold doesn't like the goblins. Selfish little brutes, they are."

They passed Fortescue's on the left. Harry felt a strong pull for ice cream in this early hour. He doubted Tonks would refuse but he kept to her determined pace.

"I thought the goblins have the most secure vaults in the world," Harry continued. "And they supply financial services to all of the magical world."

Tonks gave him a sour look. "I like to think of it more like the Goblins have a bloody monopoly on the banking industry and enjoy the benefits they extort from us."

Harry didn't answer, distracted now by a trio of young witches, suspending a great deal of water in a perfect sphere, only to have the water manipulate and take intricate forms. They gave Harry a foul look as he passed by.

_ Tonks couldn't have picked a handsome person for my Polyjuice_? He sighed.

Tonks seemed talkative enough to continue on the goblins. "You know why Gringotts is the sole bank for the magical world?"

"They're good at it?"

Tonks laughed. "Not quite. You see, we humans have tried to start up banks of our own at several periods in history. As soon as a wizard bank starts accumulating a large clientele or capital reserves, guess what? They are robbed. Goblins spout the superiority of Gringotts security, the wizarding bank's reputation fails and soon it goes bankrupt. Bob's your uncle, and now everything seems to work out fine for the goblins. Curious isn't it?"

"You think the goblins go to criminal lengths to avoid competition?" Harry asked skeptically.

But Tonks said no more. They had arrived at the white marbled pillars of the great Goblin bank, towering over all other buildings in a plain show of supremacy. It never seemed to lose its grandeur in Harry's eyes, no matter how many times he stared at it. Harry then hesitated at the doors. He grabbed Tonks' arm.

"Wait!" he spoke in an alarmed voice. "If I have to make a withdrawal, the goblins will know I'm here! Right in the middle of Diagon Alley!"

"It can't be helped," Tonks reasoned. "If the goblins are good at one thing in their banking practice, it's discretion – complete discretion for their clients. Besides, no way the goblins would ever let mom within its walls. The goblins might think that even alerting mom at all would draw unneeded attention to it."

"Mom?" Harry blurted out. The question had been burning in his mind for several days as Tonks seemed to refer to the matriarchic character quite often.

"Oh, it's the Ministry of Magic. Government's always been a rather maternal character don't you think?"

"And what if the goblins figure I'm important enough to break protocol and alert _mom_?" Harry asked nervously.

"Then it's a good thing you've got an Invisibility cloak and a hot Metamorphmagus to back you up," winked Tonks.

Without further delay, Tonks strolled into the bank with her head held high. Harry tried to remove the anxiety in him and followed his guardian. She had not been kidding when she mentioned the beer-belly of the poor fellow Harry was now impersonating. He rubbed the long beard uncomfortably.

_A little scruff? I'm wearing Dumbledore's beard for Merlin sake._

He shuffled next to Tonks nervously as they made their way across the scarcely populated marbled floors of the Gringotts lobby. The Goblin security staff was manned by short-statured and gauntly armed goblins. Ron might have been one to laugh, but Harry had eyes for nothing but their sharpened axes, forged with white steel. His nerves spiked drastically. Suddenly his excitement vanished, and he found himself wondering why he had been so eager beforehand without considering the dangers.

"Tonks…" he whispered. "Tonks! I…I'm not so sure about this."

"Relax," she whispered back. "Complete discretion remember?"

Harry took a deep breath and the pair of them strolled up to the nearest teller. The teller made a point to ignore them for some moments. Tonks would have none of it.

"We'd like to make a withdrawal, if you're quite done examining your fingernails," Tonks called in a saccharine voice.

Both Harry and the teller look taken aback. The latter then flushed with indignation but held his professionalism intact.

"Key," the replied gruffly.

Tonks handed it to him dutifully as Harry held his breath. The teller looked at it for a moment and then frowned as he stared back at Harry, now in the appearance of a fat bearded man. He then eyed Tonks curiously.

"Mam, are you sure that-"

"It is the right key," Tonks said immediately.

The goblin's face broke out into a worrying glance. His eyes were moving about apprehensively. "Well…you understand that…given your…precaution we will require a blood sample as well for verification."

He pushed a small white blade towards Harry. Harry glanced at Tonks who nodded, albeit reluctantly. He gave himself a small prick on the finger and watched as the red globule of blood was suspended in mid air while the white blade vibrated before coming to rest. Harry couldn't tell if the teller was satisfied or mortified.

"How much do you expect to be withdrawing today?" asked the goblin tentatively.

"That is not the concern of the bank," Tonks replied for him automatically. "Now if you please – we are pressed for time."

"Very…um, very well. If you'll follow me, Mr…uh…sir."

Harry watched Tonks whose brow was furled in thought. From what he could gather, this was not a typical interaction. He left this train of thought to Tonks. He let the wind blow through his hair as the three of them descended into the deep tunnels where laid the Potter vault. Deep into stony passages, the tram screamed by. Tonks held her head low and gripped the sides tightly, much to Harry's amusement. He looked to the accompanying goblin.

"So where are we exactly? Deep underground?" Harry yelled over the wind.

The goblin looked back at him. "Your vault is authorized for immediate non-credit international withdrawals from all Gringotts banks in western Europe. We're somewhere off the coast of Normandy right now."

"Normandy? We're in France?"

"The trams travel many times faster than they appear," explained the goblin. "Our branch is that of Western Europe, you know. We have to position the international vaults somewhere where our clients from England, France, Germany and the Benelux clients could be able to reach their vaults readily."

Harry looked bewildered around, he saw rock not water. "You're telling me Gringotts has an underground network that connects all these countries?"

The goblin sneered. "Why of course! Our international vaults are centralized in a single location! It would be much too cumbersome to provide a system of vaults for all of our individual banks."

Certain possibilities swirled around in Harry's mind but he dared not voice them next to a Gringotts employee. Nor did he ask why it seemed he was in a mountain rather than below at sea. Perhaps the goblin liked the rock. Tonks shivered behind him.

Soon enough they had arrived at the vault and Harry had gone through the security measures and looked upon his vault a bit mournfully. Tonks approached from behind, looking around bewildered. The so-called spires of gold were woefully short. And the mountain of galleons were reduced to small mounds.

"What?" Tonks asked, alarmed. "Are we in the right vault? Where are those endless piles of Potter gold?"

"Sorry to disappointment you," Harry scratched the back of his head. "I'm not a millionaire like the rumors suggest. And Hogwarts tuition is expensive, you know. I might have enough to independently live well enough for a couple more years but I've got to find a job, same as you."

"I _have_ a job," Tonks reminded him. "One that I enjoyed quite a bit. And I've had to take a few more vacation days than I'm comfortable with."

"I'll comp you," Harry said distractedly. "Come on, let's get this over with."

The collection of a modest amount of gold and the return journey went by quicker than expected. Harry had wanted to question the goblin more on the international vault network but his caution overwhelmed him and he fell silent for most of the ride.

When they returned to the lobby, they found the same teller watching them very closely. Harry halted suddenly, a very surly looking goblin in their path. He gave them a cruel smile.

"Good morning, sir, madam," he spoke courteously. "I am Ragnok, divisional manager for the Western Europe branch of Gringotts. Your teller informed me of the unusual situation we've found ourselves in. Rest assured, your confidentiality is guaranteed."

Harry breathed easy while Tonks still bore a hard face. Ragnok eyed Harry's bag of gold.

"I trust our services were adequate?" he asked lightly, though never tearing his eyes away.

"Very," Harry replied curtly. "Now if you don't mind-"

"May I ask if you should be returning later today?" Ragnok asked suddenly. Harry's suspicions rose. "If you were…to say require more withdrawals…we…we could expedite the process for you."

"I believe this is all we will require today," Tonks replied, almost shoving Ragnok out of the way as they passed him.

Harry could feel goblin eyes staring at him. Luckily his disguise was still intact and the goblins did not seem eager to give him away. When he exited the doors of the bank, Harry felt a deep sense of relaxation wash over him. He dabbed away at his sweating face.

"That was weird, wasn't it?" he asked Tonks.

Tonks did not reply, but looked to be deep in thought and suspicion. "Lets…lets get over to Ollivander's, Harry."

As they began to walk, Harry felt himself becoming paranoid about hidden eyes. "Maybe," he said slowly. "Maybe it would have been better for me not to come."

"You sound like Dumbledore," Tonks scorned. "And it can't be helped. The wand chooses the wizard, remember? I can't go and pick a wand for you."

The streets were filling up as the morning waned. Tonks looked back at the daunting Gringotts building suspiciously and urged Harry to walk in front of her. Clearly her mistrust of the goblins was deep rooted.

When they arrived in front of Ollivander's shop, he was already entertaining one client within. With a brush of her wand, she conjured a sign with red letters, which hung in front of the shop door.

CLOSED FOR THE DAY

They waited patiently until Ollivander's business had departed before they entered themselves. Harry looked about him. The shop was always something of an oddity, the wood polished but covered in dust. Behind the counter were rows upon rows of wands, carefully mended and made no doubt by Ollivander's own loving hands. The wandmaker looked at them with friendly eyes.

"Ah!" he exclaimed. "Hello there! I don't think we've met before. Come for a wand dearie?"

Tonks pushed Harry forward and in a move that stunned Harry, she spoke honestly. "Ollivander, this is Harry Potter. His wand was broken and he needs a new one, either made from scratch or from your reserves. We need it before the end of the day. Can you do that?"

It took a moment for the words to register with the wandmaker. He stuttered in surprise, glancing at Harry. Harry looked angrily at Tonks, who shrugged her shoulders.

"Mr. Potter?" he asked tentatively.

Harry nodded his head. "My wand was eleven inches of holly with a phoenix feather at its core."

The wandmaker's eyes lit in recognition. "Mr. Potter…you are…you are a wanted man. What in heavens are you…"

"Ollivander," Tonks spoke again. But the man was beside himself in indignation.

"I am a reputable business man!" exclaimed Ollivander in indignation. "I will not go around consorting with criminals! Leave at once!"

"He needs a wand, Ollivander. And he's offering a sizeable payment for it. No one needs to know about this besides us three."

"I cannot be bought off!" the wandmaker exclaimed, ripe with pride. "My establishment is one of repute!"

Tonks sighed. "Then I suppose I'll let slip to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement of your backroom deals with those customers who are willing to pay. Selling spare wands is illegal, don't you know Garrick?"

The wandmaker looked aghast. "Who…who are you miss?"

"Someone who's willing to pay a great deal of money for your services, and someone who can cause you a great deal of trouble if you refuse."

"Then…" Ollivander brushed through his hair, clearly in thought. When it came to him, he spun towards the pair nervously. "If I do this, my reputation and my business may very well go up in flames. I need…I need collateral in case that happens."

"I…I don't have that much gold," Harry warned. "But you're welcome to what's left of-"

"Not gold," interrupted Ollivander. "I…" he looked sheepish and slightly ashamed. "I want the Mirror."

"The mirror?" Harry repeated dumbly as Tonks took a sharp intake of breath. "I…I'm sorry Mr. Ollivander, I don't follow."

A very subtle slyness crept into the wandmaker's face, with only Tonks being able to catch it.

"It's the crowning achievement of Lily Potter in her career in Experimental Charms," he explained to Harry rapidly. "Simply put, she managed to _recreate_ the Mirror of Erised – an ancient artifact that has stood companion with the world since time immemorial. And she had the skills and wit beyond all others to recreate this sacred item. For your new wand, I require the Mirror."

"The Mirror is priceless!" Tonks retorted harshly on Harry's behalf. "This is extortion Ollivander and you know it! It's worth more than all the gold in my and Harry's vaults combined!"

Ollivander bristled. "This is my price! My reasons are highly private and personal but I can assure you I will treat it with delicacy and respect. Think of this as a loan, Mr. Potter. I will not require the Mirror forever…merely until I have what I seek. I shall return it to you upon such a time, rest assured. You can keep your gold, I do not need that dirty money."

Harry was still lost as Tonks led him into a corner of the shop while Ollivander's eyes glistened over with the prospect of the Mirror. She spoke to Harry in hushed tones.

"Why the hell did you tell him who I was?" Harry demanded angrily. "He could have just believed I was a new customer and given me a bloody wand!"

"If Ollivander believed you were some one else, he'd supply you with a wand according to who he believes you are. The wand would never have worked well for you if he didn't know who he was supplying the wand to."

"Fine," Harry resigned bitterly. "He's not the only wandmaker in Britain. Surely there must be others."

Tonks sighed. "I don't have any dirt on the other wandmakers Harry. It's Ollivander's or bust. He's an extorting bastard but he's the best wandmaker in Britain and he's our only option."

"The Mirror," Harry murmured. "My mother's greatest achievement? Her life's work? To be sold in a backroom deal like it's a trinket?"

Tonks touched his elbow gently. "It was _not_ your mother's greatest achievement. It may be her life's work, but it's her son's life in exchange. I think she'd probably have made the deal."

Harry found himself thinking back to the cemetery and the tombstones he had knelt at. Tombstones of plain rock that had not brought back or stirred memories of comfort. He pondered on the mirror in similar fashion. It was his mother's dream – a legacy of sorts. He wondered if he was so ready to give it away. But found he didn't need to think hard.

He looked at Tonks and nodded his head. "Okay," he whispered." Lets make the deal."

He couldn't quite describe it, but there was a twinkle in Tonks eye that looked dangerously similar to respect.

They approached Ollivander again. "You've got a deal, Ollivander," sighed Tonks. "We'll retrieve the Mirror for you. Have you got a wand ready for Harry?"

Ollivander at least had the decency to temper his excitement. "Ah, well no. Harry…I don't think I have quite the wand to suit you. I'll likely make it myself. Today you said? Well, I suppose it can be done. Well Mr. Potter, would you like flexibility? Power? Speed? What would you like your wand to be?"

Harry spoke without thinking. "Adamant. I want my wand to be…adamant."

Tonks looked at Harry curiously while the wandmaker broke into smile. "I believe I have just the thing. He glanced back at his stores. "You know, I've made quite a few wands in my day, but I've only had the good fortune to make two of phoenix feathers – they being so rare. It just so happens that yesterday on my doorstep, I found a third phoenix feather, just laying there in front of me."

"Curious," Harry spoke slowly.

"Indeed," mused the wandmaker. "Well Mr. Potter, it seems you have the favor of a phoenix out there. Adamant you say? I think I can do that. Lets see here…eleven inches again, I think…core of a phoenix feather…and oak. Will that do?"

Harry could not hide his excitement this time. He nodded earnestly. The wandmaker clapped his hands together excitedly. The danger of servicing a criminal was wiped clean from in favor of his entrepreneurial spirit.

"Splendid! I will get started at once, and you will of course bring me the Mirror."

Ollivander hurried away, leaving Tonks and Harry to their thoughts. Harry took another gulp from one of the vials of Polyjuice potion and felt the effects reinforced. They stood silently for a moment.

"So!" Tonks said suddenly. "We've got time to kill. I'm craving for something from Fortescues. Ollivander will take all day, and I'd rather not hold on to something as valuable as the Mirror for any longer than I need to. Come on, your treat."

* * *

In the summer days of Hogwarts, there was little activity in the castle. The weeks flew by and the castle breathed in delight of the summer air. The lawns were magically subdued to a pleasant level while flowers all around blossomed free of students. The castle was asleep and tranquil, not waking for even the summer storms.

In its lush green fields was an abundance of silence – a magical tranquility where the great castle could recover from the excitement of the school year. The great entrance gates to the castle stood open during this summer period.

It was at the entrance gates where the Deputy Headmistriss met with the guests assembled before her – nearly four dozen Dark Wizard hunters, armed, dangerous and with purpose in their eyes. Before all of them stood Kingsley Shaklebolt.

"Madam McGonagall," Kingsley spoke in his deep baritone voice. "I have a warrant to search the Hogwarts grounds for one Harry James Potter, signed by the Minister, the Head Auror and the Chief Warlock of Wizengamot."

The Transfiguration Professor looked ripe with a cold fury. "Does it take fifty professional Aurors to wrongfully hunt down a fifteen year old boy?"

"Minerva," warned Kingsley, shooting her a knowing look. "The warrant is binding and the School Governors have already approved."

"Then be my guest," McGonagall beckoned with sarcasm dripping from her voice. "I'm afraid you will not find Harry Potter here."

"Where is Dumbledore?" spoke up one Auror brashly.

McGonnagal bristled. "The Headmaster is abroad."

"Where? We have much to ask him."

"Albus Dumbledore is former Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock and recipient of the Order of Merlin First Class!" McGonagall fumed, her voice rising. "He sees people at his own leisure and on his own time! I see your detentions with me on respect seemed to have gone unheeded, Mr. Dawlish. Unless you have a warrant for the arrest of Albus Dumbledore as well, then I'm afraid you will have to make an appointment."

To her horror, Kingsley produced a second document for her examination.

"Well actually, Professor McGonagall," started Dawlish smugly. "We have just such a warrant. Signed this morning by all necessary parties."

"On what grounds?" demanded a panicked professor.

"He has been embezzling funds from the Hogwarts Reserves," Kingsley spoke softly. "And routing the funds to a private account in Brussels amongst other illegally seized goods."

There was a quiet moment where Minerva McGonagall struggled to contain an outrageous laugh. Dumbledore embezzling? However her laughter died on her lips when she saw Kingsley Shaklebolt, dead serious and frightened. The professor frowned deeply, struggling now for words.

"Preposterous! I am deputy headmistress and I am in charge of the finances of this school! If there had been any redirecting of funds, I would be the first to know!"

"Gringotts has the financial transaction paperwork to back up our claim, both on your end and his. Minerva, you must step aside," ordered Kingsley.

The two of them shared a horrifying look, conveying that their fears had now multiplied. The enemy was more cunning than they had imagined. In Kingsley's eyes, the professor saw him begging for her to step aside and not cause incident. The old Transfiguration professor was muttering angrily as she moved to one of the parapets.

"This will be Fudge's final blunder," she warned them harshly. "Insulting a man so ever his greater."

Kingsley looked sympathetic. His face hardened as he turned back to his men. "Spread out! Search the castle! Find Potter! And if Dumbledore is here, take him!"

* * *

Tonks took another long bite of her icecream, making a point to draw much attention from the men around her. The same men eyed Harry with some jealousy and disbelief that of all people, this fat churlish man was sharing a meal with an attractive young lady.

"Would you stop doing that?" Harry grimaced. "You're going to make all the women in this parlor want to strangle you."

"Mmm," Tonks said dreamily. "Kinky."

Harry shut up at once, turning back to his ice cream, blushing. "Ugh, you're insufferable."

They spoke lightly, almost as friends. But there was this unspoken tension that still hung across their conversations. Their last row had been the worst, and Harry was painfully realizing Tonks had been actually trying to help – in a messed up way. If he was going to keep his sanity, he'd have to reconcile Tonks' inopportune jokes and how she viewed him. However it still tore him up inside.

_I am not a child, no matter what she says. I just…sometimes acted a bit…childish…_

"What's the book for?" he asked her. Under her arm, she carried a bag sporting a book titled '_The Arcane Empire of the Polynesia'_, Cauldron Cleaner and several other bright potions amongst other things_._

"My dad," Tonks yawned. "He's a best selling fiction author you know? Heheh, sometimes he strays a bit too close to our reality and gets a warning from the Muggle Liaison Office."

Harry frowned. "Who are the Polynesians?"

Tonks looked at him exasperatedly. "Do they still history at Hogwarts?"

"It's all bloody Goblin wars!" retorted Harry defensively. "Is there something I should know?"

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Well at risk of sounding like an encyclopedia, here it goes. There are four distinct types of magic in the world – each _vastly_ different than the other." She raised four fingers. "Greek, Egyptian, Polynesian and Chinese. All of the West uses Greek-style magic and so…it's the most common in the world. Egyptian magic is _really_ sinister. Sometimes a prodigious charmer can appropriate Egyptian magic into Western curses. Hell, the Cruciatus curse reportedly has its origin in some Egyptian enchantment. The Polynesians…well their magical society died out along time ago. There magic is more…naturalistic some would say. I dunno too much about it. And then…"

"The Chinese," Harry finished.

Tonks swallowed another mouthful of ice cream. "Completely secretive. We don't know _anything_ about their magic, how it works and where it comes from. They protected the secret of their magic for nigh millennia. Hell, in ancient times the Polynesians waged a bloody war to find out Chinese secrets. Blame the Chinese for why the Polynesians are gone. Their secrecy is the source of a great many conspiracy theories. Everybody, especially governments wants a piece of the Chinese pie."

"Even Britain?"

"_Especially_ Britain. It took us forever to persuade the Chinese to send over an Ambassador. Granted, it's not much but its progress. Ambassador Chang…an uptight fellow. I saw him once while I was running security at a ministry charity event."

"So there's no information on what sort of spells _they_ might be using," Harry concluded softly. "Great."

He hesitated before speaking again. "Do you…do you think those Triads are working for Voldemort? Like freelance killers or something?"

A dark look passed over the Auror's face. "I sure hope not. You-know-who with arcane Chinese magic? That's not a combination I even want to entertain. Seems unlikely though. From what I know about the Triads – and that's not a lot mind you – they're pretty prideful. Kingsley's a leading authority on them so you'd be better asking him, but apparently they feel they are above the rest of the world, even above You-know-who. Yet there is _one_ thing that unifies all four types of magic – one universal spell that operates the exact same way in all these different magics."

Harry knew it immediately. "The Killing Curse."

He was almost about to ask her the question. He bit his tongue before it came out. No doubt it would cause another row between them and that was the last thing he wanted – especially now when his day had yet to be spoiled. But then Gringotts caught his eye again, looming above, a grey storm above hills of grass. He ate the rest of his ice cream quickly, hoping he had the tenacity to look at his mother's greatest work and knowingly give it away.

Tonks had followed his gaze to Gringotts. Her look turned solemn as the pair of them shared a look. Her eyes held some pity in them. Not since their last row had Tonks looked at him like she usually did, inquisitively searching for something – searching for something Harry now knew to be that which Sirius had proclaimed him. She was searching not for the boy-who-lived, but a man, a man who could defeat a Dark Lord.

"Well, time to face the devil," sighed Tonks. "Back to the goblins. Be careful Harry. They were acting very strange this morning. And why someone as important as the divisional manager came to talk to you, I have no idea. But it likely isn't good."

"You don't think…"

"Well we're still here, which means they haven't alerted mom yet. But the goblin's are devils. They may surprise us yet."

Harry took several more gulps of the Polyjuice, his reserves now running a bit low. His face turned sour and Tonks laughed heartily, offering her icecream to him. He took it gratefully, trying to shake off the awful taste of the potion.

Soon, they found themselves once again at the doors of Gringotts. This time when they entered, the floor was busy with customers and their gold. But despite the crowd, Harry could already sense that all the tellers were looking at him apprehensively. Tonks held a firm grip on Harry's shoulder as they approached a new teller.

It did not help their nerves that once again, the divisional manager had come to speak with them and that he himself would be accompanying the pair back to their vaults. More inquiring questions were tossed his way while Tonks vied to deflect them. For the second time that day, the doors to Vault 687 swung wide open. Ragnok reluctantly remained outside to assure their privacy.

"Accio, Mirror!" cried Tonks with a wave of the wand.

It emerged buried beneath gold, putting all galleons to shame. It was white, whiter than the walls of Gringotts, whiter than the snows atop the mountains, glowing like a star itself. It floated to them in a dazzling grace and settled in the Auror's hand. Harry looked at it and felt his heart rise. His mother had slaved over this thing, this tiny thing, something that had earned her great respect in the wizarding world. Tonks offered it to him but Harry recoiled immediately. He was wary – wary of how he might react. Tonks merely shrugged and then she was captured by her reflection in the mirror.

Harry observed her closely. Her face was indescribable and Harry felt as though he was violating her privacy as he watched her stare into her deepest desires. She found Harry's gaze and her demeanor changed immediately. She grinned, knowingly.

"Quite…stimulating," she purred. "Would you like me to describe it to you?"

Harry turned away and observed what remained of his gold. The Dursleys had been sucking him dry. At least that was over. His gold was at last _his_ gold. Tonks again tried to hand him the mirror. He shuddered and backed away again.

"Stop it, Tonks," he warned her. "I'm not in the mood."

"Aren't you in the least bit curious?" she asked him.

_Not curious. Terrified_.

"I looked on the real Mirror of Erised in my first year," Harry said quickly. "Once was enough."

"But this is one of only two artifacts that can do this!" protested Tonks. "People kill for the chance to stare into the Mirror of Erised."

Harry momentarily lost control. He found himself clutching both of Tonks' wrists, his face very close to her own. "Don't you get it Tonks?" he whispered. "I don't _want_ to look into it!"

There were faces he still could not bear to see. He knew there would be many more faces than when he last looked when he was eleven. He remembered Dumbledore's warning about the Mirror of Erised. Harry knew that he was at risk of falling prey to its curse. He wasn't sure if looking would comfort him, or utterly destroy him. Harry wasn't sure if he could survive seeing Sirius again or Ron or Hermione or any of them.

Tonks dropped the subject to Harry's everlasting gratitude. He covered the mirror in a white cloth and they exited the vault promptly. Ragnok immediately eyed the mysterious veiled object in Harry's hand but said nothing. The journey from the bank back to Ollivander's was a blur to Harry. His sole focus was on the precious thing in his hand now – her legacy. He was about to sell Lily Potter's life's work. All in order to help him flee the country as a murderer.

_If mum could see me now_.

The mirror felt light, its face about the height and width of a man's head, with a gleaming white finish. Crystals of adamant adorned the rim encasing the few words that were engraved on the frame.

_nwad eht daert ohw esoht rof thgil a_

_ksud eht esoohc ohw esoht rof esruc a_

Harry wondered what Tonks had seen before she covered it up in another jest. It felt to Harry as if the mirror was burning away at his hand. He wanted to hold it no longer than necessary. He dropped it into Tonks' bag, determined not to look. When they had returned to Ollivander's he was nowhere to be seen though his voice echoed to the front of the store.

"We're closed for the day!" he barked.

"We have your payment, Ollivander," called Harry. _Lets just get this over with._

Ollivander came running out of the back with a speed not natural to his age. His eyes were gleaming with desire. "Y-you're wand is just settling back there. It should be ready in moments. A fine creation, perhaps my finest, if I do say so myself."

"You say that after every wand you make," Tonks rolled her eyes.

Ollivander reached for Tonks bag, but she stopped him. He reluctantly withdrew his outstretched arm, looking to be a disgruntled child.

"Not just yet, Ollivander," spoke the Auror. "There are some things I need to ask you before you wet yourself from the Mirror."

The wandmaker scoffed but said nothing. Tonks smirked and reached into her bag, retrieving the foreign wand Harry had taken from the fallen Triad. She laid it on the table in front of the British master of wandlore. He eyed it uncertainly and lifted it up to the light, noticing the small inscription at the base.

"Balance?" he murmured to himself.

"What can you tell me about this wand?" she asked.

Garrick Ollivander looked to be in a dream. His eyes were wide in an academic fervor of this new foreign thing. He weighed it in his hand, gazing over every detail and finally flicking it forcefully. From the tip came a flame wrapped in water. All three of them watched in wonder as the flame refused to die and eventually burned away its water shell before vanishing entirely without even smoke or ash.

"Curious," Ollivander whispered. "Where did you get this?"

"Not important," Tonks replied.

"It's a wand!" Ollivander spoke as if it was the greatest discovery in history.

Tonks waited a moment, but Ollivander was too caught up in his trance. "And?"

"It is unlike any wand I've ever seen," he murmured. "So hard…so…virile…"

"Not a wand of…nature…" he continued to mumble. "No…no there is something _internal_ about it."

"It's the wand of a Chinese wizard," said Tonks. "We need to know as much as we can about it."

Ollivander's face spread with delight. "I'm afraid any Greco-diagnostic spells are unlikely to be successful. If I could take a look at its core…"

"Do it," she stated flatly.

The wandmaker went pale. "Only a suggestion mam! No, we can't destroy this wand! I've never seen anything remotely like it! The wonders I could yet discover in wandlore…"

"This isn't an academic exercise Garrick," Tonks chastised. "Open it up."

Grumbling all the way, the wandmaker delicately cut through the wood of the wand. It split up the middle, and fell aside. He levitated the core of the wand up to eye level. He yelped in alarm.

"By Merlin!" he exclaimed. "Hair? Hair? As a core? No, no, no…much too unstable! But…but the wood…it's of inner workings…yes, yes…But how? Not drawing on forces I think…but on the core? The core itself?"

Tonks had heard enough of his inane mutterings. "Well Ollivander?"

He gazed up at her excited beyond measure. "The wand has _human_ hair at its core! Can you believe it? _Human _hair! Undoubtedly, it must be the hair of the wand's master!"

"Is that important?"

"Important?" exclaimed Ollivander. "It changes _everything_! This wand does not channel energy _through_ the core. It channels energy _from_ the core!"

"Ollivander," Tonks sighed impatiently. "How about for a laywoman?"

He looked at her with academic scorn. "Suffice to say, as most magic goes, we draw on forces outside us and channel it through the core of our wands to cast spells. So long as gravity, tension, friction and all forces exist, you can cast spells forever but it is limited by the same limits of the forces you call upon! But _this_ wand here is…internal. Its power comes _from_ its core and therefore the strength and origin of spells comes from the _caster_."

"What does this mean, practically speaking?"

"Well…depending on the strength of the caster…the wand is capable of just about anything imaginable! Imagine a wand beyond the forces of nature! Limited only by your own strength! But alas, the strength of a man is not infinite like the force of nature…I imagine the more spells cast…the weaker the caster must be…"

"So someone with this wand could cast the most powerful stunner in the world," concluded Harry, "but would soon exhausting himself."

Until now the breadth of knowledge commanded by wandlore had never impressed Harry. As he examined his own knowledge, he realized he had no idea why a wand worked or where magic came from. This Garrick Ollivander had much wisdom locked away in his old eyes and wispy hair. Tonks was pacing about, trying to register the information and Ollivander, no longer able to play around with the split wand, looked to Harry expectantly.

"Mr. Potter…the Mirror if you please?"

"Right."

Harry plucked the mirror from the Auror's bag. It felt amazingly light and warm in his palm. Harry ignored Ollivander's greedy look while the Mirror held his gaze in an ambient trance. He ignored how Tonks seemed to be nervously holding her breath as she watched him. In fact, he ignored the split wand beside him or the newly made wand waiting for him.

Strangely enough the events of the cemetery had exhausted him of the wave of raw emotions. Harry was calm and pensive. Slowly he raised the Mirror towards Ollivander. He felt it leave his hands as Ollivander tenderly held it. The wandmaker was about to turn away.

_This is my last chance. Am I strong enough to look?_

"Wait," he breathed, barely above a whisper.

Ollivander looked at him sadly. "Mr. Potter...I'm sorry but…my pay…"

Harry could barely hear himself talk – it was so quiet. "Just…just give me a moment."

Harry swallowed hard as he took the Mirror from Ollivander. Tonks still hadn't breathed. Harry raised a trembling hand and gripped the veil. He tried to grip it as hard as he could but he could already feel his conviction waning. Then he felt a warm sensation on the back of his hand. Tonks placed a gentle hand on Harry's. She looked at him, with eyes of sheer confidence.

"You can do this," she whispered.

He nodded, and dropped the veil to the floor. Harry closed his eyes, summoning all courage to him and looked into the Mirror.

There he saw them. His hair was still unruly and bore the lightning scar. His dad and his mum stood behind him. But behind them were many more figures. Hermione. Sirius. Ginny. Fred. George. Mr. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley. Cedric. Tonks hadn't let go of Harry's hand and Harry could not describe how thankful he was for it. His hand was still trembling in her grip. But he wouldn't look away. He couldn't even blink. His eyes went from face to face, once living and happy, now no more than ash. His breath was shaky and his resolve unstable. But he endured. Around him there was silence and nothing more.

"I'm sorry you're all gone," Harry whispered. "And I miss you all every day. I've tried to get past the pain. I've done stupid things to try and make the pain go away. But I've realized…the pain will never go away. It'll stay with me forever. So I have to take it – and I'll bear it." He paused and sniffed. "I'll always miss you. And for you – I'll shoulder it. And I'll _rise_ above it. So…just…"

His voice broke and he squeezed Tonks hand, whose company had never seemed more welcoming or needed.

"Keep me a warm seat at the Burrow," Harry whispered. "I'll be along soon."

And the reflection shifted. The figures blurred and faded into something else – something Harry could not yet see but was taking shape before his very eyes. He smiled to himself and gave a small laugh. He finally looked away and covered the Mirror before he could witness the new reflection. He felt changed…inexplicably and indisputably changed. His mother's mirror agreed. His mind was light and it opened to clear skies, at last breathing in acumen that he had long abandoned.

Harry blinked away the tears and handed the Mirror back to Ollivander who exchanged it with Harry's new wand. "Treat it well Mr. Ollivander. I won't need it again."

"My dear boy…I promise."

Harry managed a small smile and turned to leave. In front of the door, Tonks was now standing, hands on her hips and a sad smile of her own. They shared a long stare. Tonks nodded to him.

"They'd be proud," she said softly. "I'm proud."

Harry gave a shrug and exited the door. Tonks hooked her arm around his. At that moment, Harry realized Tonks would never give him that inquisitive look ever again.

"You give me hope, Harry Potter. I'll make a man out of you yet."

The late afternoon breeze ran through Diagon Alley and Harry breathed it in, feeling it was the first real breath he had taken all summer long. It was done. All that was left ahead were the Triads. And the Aurors. And Voldemort. It seemed a dismal thought – but it gave him more strength than one could imagine. He was staring ahead now. She exited the shop and saw Harry standing in the middle of the street, his eyes up to heaven and a calm peaceful aura about him.

All of their deaths had nearly killed him.

_Nearly_, he thought. _Nearly_.

"Not quite though," he whispered.

And he lifted his head to the sky, defiance roaring in him in white flames of righteous intent.

"You hear me Voldemort? Triads? I'm not dead yet!"

The few heads left in Diagon Alley were staring at him, aghast. Harry didn't seem to mind at all. He was beyond their disdain. He was beyond his own disdain. He had risen and the last flames of his Burning Day were gone.

"You saw something else, didn't you?" Tonks said, walking next to him. "Your reflection _changed_."

"Maybe," shrugged Harry. "But I didn't look. You know I realized something back there. I don't think my mother made the Mirror to give people the chance to look. I think she made it to give people the chance _not_ to look."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning…you're not your reflection. Your reflection is _you_. And you can change it whenever you want – through sheer force of will."

Tonks smiled at him and for the first time in a very long time, he was genuinely smiling back at her – without any reservations or grievances.

"Maybe you're ready after all," she smirked. "Alright, Mr. Second-rate-philosopher. Lets go home."

Then they laughed – the curvy brunette and the bearded fat man. They laughed as if all the mirth of the world was theirs. One moment in time – a flame of happiness that burned the world alight and cut a path through the forests of hurts. They laughed and soared above like great phoenixes, burning gold, and waxing white clouds.

Tonks still had a grin when she straightened out her arm for a Side-Apparation. Harry grabbed hold of her. There was a bang, and Tonks toppled back, as Harry had to catch her from stumbling. She was frowning deeply.

"Sorry, just a hitch. Come on, let's do it again."

Her brow creased in concentration. And then…another bang. This time Tonks had to grab a nearby railing to hold herself upright. Her breathing quickened and her face paled. Nearby, one lady looked at Tonks smugly before vanishing with a crack. Slowly but surely, Tonks was transforming back to the pink-haired Auror Harry was familiar with. However the look of sheer terror was not what Harry was accustomed to. She looked at him dangerously.

"I can't apparate back home," she said slowly, as if ingesting the words herself. "Which means someone put up an anti-apparation ward there."

"Who would do that…" Harry trailed off, and then he began to share the Auror's fear.

"Draw your wand Harry. We might be heading into a fight."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Nearly there. This short slow Act 1 is almost done. Harry is almost where I need him to be. One more chapter until Act 2 and I promise fireworks. I changed the history for the Mirror of Erised – I think it's by far the most interesting item in the HP universe. Hope you stick with me. Feel free to review and criticize – be as nasty or nice as you think I deserve. Enjoy.


	4. Mr Potter

**Chapter 3: Mr. Potter**

For the third time, Tonks closed her eyes, and this time, there was a familiar tug on Harry Potter's figure. Diagon Alley vanished. The pair of them landed hard on a green grass hill. It was near sunset now. Harry looked around and realized he knew this green hill.

He momentarily forgot the tension. "Of all places to apparate, you chose the _cemetery_?" he groaned.

"Draw your wand Harry!" Tonks cried urgently. "Come on!"

Tonks sprinted away towards the gate. Harry was barely able to keep up with her. She was flying faster than her legs seemed to allow. They passed the gate, went up the street, crossed the small bridge, turned right twice and ran by the fountain. And they came to the house.

The house was wreathed in flames.

All about the once gentle home, flames licked all sides trying to drag it into the inferno. Most of the roof had collapsed inwards while a plethora of fire red ashes was expelled from the top of the house like hellish rain. The heat was so terrible that, even from Harry's distance, he could feel it nibbling at his skin. This was not a real fire – one to purge and reform – this was the flame of a pretender. Its only goal was to burn. Glass shattered from the heat and the walls were groaning over the crackling of the fire. As the light of the flames touched Tonks' face, Harry would never forget her look of dread. Harry's wand arm was shaking now.

_No! Andromeda! Ted!_

Without another thought, he desperately tried to charge into the home, the door now barely standing.

"No!" shouted Tonks, holding him back.

She held his arm numbingly tight, likely not realizing the strength of her grip. For all her oaths to the Order and the Ministry at that moment she saw naught but her childhood house bathed in fire.

"What about Ted and Andromeda!" Harry shouted. "They might be in there!"

"Don't you think I know that Harry!" Tonks screamed at him.

Harry tried to calm down. He realized how infinitely worse this must be for the pink-haired Auror. Tonks raised her wand, putting the tip of it in her mouth.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" she cried.

The spell went _into_ her. Her eyes shone white like burning stars. She spoke with a strange voice, not her own. "The Order is compromised! We have a leak!"

The silvered ethereal wolf sprang from Tonks' mouth, fire in its eyes. The wolf multiplied into a dozen feral dogs and they dashed off into the sky, leaving silver tendrils in their wake. Tonks now turned to her burning home – looking worse by the second. Any minute now, it would collapse.

"_Homenum Revelio_!" she cried.

A moment passed and she gulped and turned deathly white. "No human presences," she whispered.

Harry gripped his wand tighter. "Maybe they escaped first. Maybe they're in the surrounding area." He pointed his wand away from the house uttering the first spell of his new wand. Oddly enough, he felt it would be one the most important spells he'd ever cast. "_Homenum Revelio_!" he copied Tonks' motions.

It gave the Auror one fleeting sense of hope. Together they sent off the charm multiple times, dozens in fact. Until finally…

"I got something!" Tonks shouted. "Behind! Back at the fountain! Two of them! Merlin, they're faint..."

Harry followed her fleeing form to the fountain they had passed. Behind the curvature of the large fountain, they found Andromeda, kneeling over her husband, tears in her eyes while her wand was brandishing furiously about her husband.

"Mom!" Tonks screamed and ran towards her, embracing her tightly. "Oh god, dad…"

Ted Tonks' prone form was bleeding profusely out of his chest and leg. There was another deep gash just above his ear and it covered the left side of his face in blood. He was wheezing and coughing out blood. The one visible side of his face was deathly pale and Harry shuddered what the next moments would bring.

Andromeda was shaking dreadfully. "They came on us about an hour ago! I've…I've never seen spells like theirs. They…they were looking for Harry. I took two of them down to the laboratory in the basement…I managed to set off my more instable concoctions. It burned them bad and I tried to get away while everything else began exploding. I knew they'd lose interest when they saw Harry wasn't there. I put up strong Confunding Wards while I dragged Ted off, but they had already gotten him with something."

Harry then noticed Andromeda's sweater, soaking with blood that did not appear to be from her spouse. Tonks took it in as well.

"God, mom…are you…"

She brushed it off, with the strength of Black blood. "I casted a few healing charms on myself before tending to your father."

"Mum!" cried Tonks. "Casting healing charms on _yourself_? You of all people know how dangerous that is!"

Harry remembered witnessing Tonks doing that very thing but he said nothing.

"Stop it Nymphadora!" snapped Andromeda. "I'm trying to save your father's life. That's all that matters. Are you going to help me?"

The Auror looked to be on the verge of tears. She wiped them away bravely, looking at her dying father. "What do I have to do?"

Harry was utterly forgotten and he wouldn't have had it any other way. He so desperately wished he could do something to help. But Andromeda was a professional Healer and Tonks was an Auror, having at least a bit of experience in field healing charms. He merely stood guard as he felt the Polyjuice potion giving way to his natural form. He could hear Tonks and her mother murmuring incantations and charms over Ted Tonks' bleeding body.

"Do you have the blood-replenishing potions?"

"Okay, cauterize."

"I've never seen this before. Back out, use the purifying charm on the leg and try again."

"Keep him awake! Don't let him fall away. Drowsing charm! Hurry!"

"Clean…no infection…counter-curses aren't working, we'll have to pump it out."

"We're not clear yet. God damn it, Tonks in my bag! The Felicis!"

"Are you sure mom?"

"Just do it Nymphadora! We've got to do everything to give your father the best chance."

Harry could only watched as Tonks procured a tiny vial of some strange golden liquid from Andromeda's discarded jacket. She poured it gently into her father's mouth – who coughed violently.

There was a quick crack in the air. Harry whipped around, a stunner leaving his wand. The figure that had just appeared, quickly waved his own wand harmoniously with the incoming stunner and redirected it towards the sky.

"Put that wand away!" the figure roared.

Harry saw a flash of red hair and he began to hope. _Ron?_ However this figure was taller and his hair longer. He stopped approaching as he took in Ted's form.

"Bill!" cried Tonks.

"Tonks!" the man exclaimed. "Jesus, what happened?"

"The fucking Triads happened! Come on, make yourself useful! We've got to get my parents out of here!"

_Bill Weasley?_

Bill quickly rushed past Harry. He observed Bill's eyes were less bright and his whole form was more sunken than before. He knelt beside Tonks and Andromeda. The witches had done all they could. Ted was in the hands of luck and fate now.

"I could take him to the Burrow," Bill offered, shakily.

"Not the Burrow," Andromeda remarked. "That's too obvious. They'll be looking for Harry there."

"He's not going to die just to keep me safe," protested Harry. "We'll move him to the Burrow. I…I'll just go away and keep the Aurors and the Triads away…"

They seemed to ignore him.

"St. Mungo's?"

"It's too public."

"The Triads are after Harry, not Ted. They won't care where Ted is as long as Harry isn't with him."

"It's not just the Triads! The Order is compromised!"

"We've got no choice."

Tonks decided for all four of them. "Alright. St. Mungo's it is. Harry, take another swig of the Polyjuice. And grab on."

* * *

For this newly created taskforce to find and capture Harry James Potter, the Auror division had gathered their most experienced investigators into a large unused section of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's many floors. The walls, once with a pristine oak finish, was now tarnished with red markings ranging from theories of Potter's associates and plots, to likely safehouses and destinations. In a nearby corner, laid some notes suggesting, like his godfather, Potter, wanted for murder, would flee to Tibet. Others suggested Potter would go to ground and join up with the ragtag remnants of Death Eaters that scurried and hid in the shadows.

The search of Hogwarts turned up nothing, not a morsel of evidence or incriminating material. They had done nothing but earn the scorn of the interim Headmistress of the most reputable school in Britain. They had made inquiries into the family of Potter's close friend Ronald Weasley. What they found was a haunting house – bereft of warm and life. They found but one Weasley, the cursebreaker William Weasley, sitting solemnly in the kitchen as if dead himself. The Weasleys had vanished, he had told them.

Had they gone into hiding with Potter? Why? Did they not know this would be incriminating themselves? Or did Potter have them killed as well? Exacting some yet unknown vendetta on the large family of redheads? They then pursued one Hermione Granger, only to find the entire residence empty and not a soul to be found. This case was becoming stranger by the minute. Every lead offered more questions than it solved.

"He must be trying to cross the Channel," concluded Auror Keaton, his reputation as an Auror second only to Kingsley's. "It's the only thing that makes sense. We have too solid an extradition agreement with America for Potter to dare the Atlantic. And the boy's not stupid enough to stay in the country while Aurors are dogging his footsteps."

Kingsley cursed inwardly. For days now he had been slowly steering the course of the investigation away from the continent and across the ocean. It had worked with the Black case, but strong and direct input from Scrimgeour had immediately silenced that lead. Shaklebolt's sterling reputation was beginning to feel the heat as more of his attempts to move the investigation in a different direction were being stymied by Keaton and Scrimgeour.

"How would he cross the Channel?" Kingsley asked, putting up an unconvinced act. "His wanted poster has about as much public exposure as bloody Fudge. We've got surveillance outside of Gringotts so he can't access his gold. And he knows without those two things, anonymity and gold, he can't leave the country. I say we focus on Britain. There may be leads, specifically in Northern Ireland we might pursue."

"Kingsley," muttered Dawlish impatiently. "Look at the signs. Potter's gotten rid of all his close associates. He's preparing to disappear. And he's too widely known to just fall off the grid in this country."

Kingsley gritted his teeth and made no counter argument. First Burning Day and the loss of the Weasleys, then Dumbledore's arrest warrant, the attack on the safehouse and now the Aurors closing in on Harry. This threat was larger than any of them had ever imagined – and its far-reaching consequences were about to shape the coming fight.

_The Triads_.

Tonks had made claim that their attackers were indeed members of the Triads and Kingsley found it hard to disagree. But what were they after? Why did they want Harry? The boy had had no interaction with the Chinese – ever. But if the Triads were after him, Harry must have done something bad – really bad. Many years prior, he had been assigned to a joint-ICW investigative unit into disturbances in Malta. Killings, curses and chaos. It had been a hit, as far as they could determine, a bloody one involving a seedy kingpin dabbling into a far-reaching Veela-sex trade. It had been the work of the Triads – and for many years they had been the focus of Kingsley Shaklebolt's attention. They were dangerous, they were efficient, and they never did anything without a reason.

An unknown Chinese wizard had ventured into one of these shady establishments. According to sources now deceased, the kingpin had tried to blackmail this anonymous prominent figure. Four days later, the entire empire had been burned and the kingpin and his men were dead.

_What has Harry done to have these people chasing him?_

Kingsley had done what he could for Harry without raising suspicion on himself. The Order needed someone in the Auror division – especially with Tonks tied up as Harry's guardian. Now with Dumbledore wanted as well, the Order was so heavily crippled and so leaderless that members feared for its survival. Begrudgingly, Kingsley had stepped up to lead, but his work on Potter left little time for meetings with a secret society. He shouldn't have expected to be able to divert the very competent investigative minds of the Auror division. But it had worked with Sirius…

_That's because everyone in the Division was scared shitless about Sirius. Potter's just a boy, someone who hasn't even done his OWLs yet…_Kingsley mused.

"The Portkey office has sent out alert notifications to every Key provider in the country. But none of them will allow us to access their grounds and disrupt business unless we get warrants."

Keaton scoffed. "Getting the warrants is the easiest part. I swear, Malfoy will sign just about anything we tell him to sign."

"Except Key providers have armies of litigators that can challenge the grounds of the warrant. We've got to have at least probable cause for a warrant or else their lawyers will sue our pants off."

"King's Key Connections will be the likely point of escape," Kingsley spoke authoritatively. "Largest Key Provider in the country and it's publically owned."

The Aurors groaned. They all knew what _that_ meant. Businesses under mom meant three things: underfunded, underpriced and understaffed. Therefore it was utterly teeming with an exhaustible supply of customers while the staffers received crummy wages and were overwhelmed with the demand of cheap transportation. With the chaos that was KK Connections, it would be all too easy for someone to slip through the security net.

Kingsley prayed Tonks would move quickly. Quantus Connections was the most expensive Key provider in the country. It would be last on the list of providers to search – especially when the criminal had no gold. Kingsley had had barely enough time to call in his last favors at Quantus to book them tickets under fake identities. On top of that, he'd had to cover for Tonks' absences. Gerald had been unconvinced that he'd made a clerical error and that Tonks was scheduled for vacation. Kingsley wished he hadn't needed to confound him.

Kingsley was the first to rise from his seat as he saw Rufus Scrimgeour, head of the division, enter the conference room. His fellow Auror's quickly followed suit. Scrimgeour gave a rough nod to them. The man always wore a thin grim frown and a face of stone. Though Kingsley could now see a sparkle of excitement in his eyes. Keaton began briefing Scrimgeour on their progress. Kingsley at the back of the large room, was softly approached by a senior Auror by the name of Bayes.

"What the hell is Scrimgeour doing with all this oversight?" he muttered unhappily. "He's managing our every move!"

Shaklebolt had dedicated much thought to this as well. Scrimgeour had been more than willing to use Auror resources to pursue all avenues of thought – and even encouraged some of the more outlandish theories. Never had the head of the department take such a personal involvement in a case – not even ones as large as the Black and Lestrange cases.

"Good," Scrimgeour replied at the end of the briefing. "I'll get the warrants for the Key providers."

Keaton spoke quickly. "Which ones sir? So far we think King's Key is a good shot, maybe Avalonia and Heckman…"

"All of them," Scrimgeour said sternly.

The entire conference room stared agape at their department head. All the Portkey providers? That was over thirty firms staffed by hundreds and hundreds of workers. This would require the entire department and then some. They'd have to knick enforcers from other divisions of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Searching all Key providers to find one boy? They'd have half the lawyers in the country in outrage and more than enough powerful businessmen against them.

"Sir, you can't mean…"

"All of them," Scrimgeour repeated with finality. "Two days. Prepare your men."

_All of them…including Quantus…_

Tonks and Harry's window of escape was closing. They had to move fast.

Bayes stared angrily at Scrimgeour's retreating figure. "Are you kidding me?" he whispered. "A nationwide search on all Key providers for _one_ suspect? Does Scrimgeour know the mess that will cause? It's like he _wants_ to get sacked!"

And then it dawned on Kingsley – the answer to Scrimgeour's aggressive and strange behavior. The motivation behind his boss' actions were clear cut and simple.

"He can't be sacked," Kingsley said slowly. "No matter what happens, the responsibility won't fall on him."

"Of course it will," snapped Bayes. "He's the goddamn department _head_. He's responsible for the division."

"Unless…" Kingsley continued. "Unless he received a directive from the Minister to pursue the case. In which case…whatever happens…it falls on Fudge."

Bayes paled. "Bloody hell. Is that what Scrimgeour's playing at? He's making as much chaos as possible to turn public opinion on Fudge? What the hell is his angle?"

"He wants Fudge's position as minister. And now that the personal directive from the Minister's office has inadvertently absolved him of responsibility, he's going to use the case as a means to cause as much public outcry as possible…make Fudge unpopular." Kingsley was speaking fast, the new dimensions of this play now on the brink of understanding. "Then…then when he thinks he's got enough support in Wizengamot…he might…he might…"

"File a motion of no confidence," finished Bayes. "Jesus…he doesn't even care about Potter! He's just using him to play power politics!"

Kingsley did not speak. His mind worked furiously to understand this. Scrimgeour would do everything in his power to catch Potter – and make it as messy and noisy as possible. Harry was now being pursued by one of the best Aurors in the country – one that now had a personal stake in the arrest. A motivated Scrimgeour with a vested interest, was every criminal's worse nightmare – that and a run in with Mad Eye Moody. Harry had become the centerpiece in a silent battle for the post of the Minister.

And how did Director Bones feel about this? The Auror division was technically under her department – although it had been granted much more autonomy than any other division in the government. Amelia Bones _did_ technically outrank Scrimgeour, and would pass the buck up to her just as she would pass it up to Fudge. Kingsley knew she had eyes for Fudge's seat as well. DMLE directors had always been strong candidates in the past and Bones had a celebrated career without scandals or a dark mark on her record. Her beauty and strong rapport with the public would do wonders when election time came around again. Should she figure out Scrimgeour's play, who knows what would ensue?

"Fucking politics," muttered Bayes, walking off.

Kingsley nodded his head absentmindedly.

_Fucking politics._

* * *

Harry sat numbly with Bill outside the emergency healing chamber while Healers were busy at work on Ted. Andromeda and Tonks were with him, watching tearfully as Ted fought for his life. Apparently the two witches had done wonders on the scene, and there was little left for the Healers to attempt besides more diagnostic spells. Nevertheless, Harry's nerves were on fire. He glanced over at Bill, his face seemed to be permanently etched in a grim look.

"Bill," he tried. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry about Grimmauld."

"Yeah," he spoke in a raspy voice. "Yeah, me too. There…there won't be any bodies for the funeral. It's like they just…_disappeared_ and no one will ever know why. We can't let the Ministry know about where they were or else they would find out we were with Sirius Black and we'd all be branded criminals. I…I couldn't do that to my family's memory. For the rest of the world, it'll be like the Weasley family just went up and vanished into thin air – no one ever knowing the heroes they were."

"Bill," Harry spoke quietly. "Weren't _you_ at Grimmauld?"

"Snape," muttered Bill. "He was just preparing to leave headquarters. He…he must have felt it before any of us because the next thing I knew, he had grabbed me by my robes and we both fell into the fireplace. The Floo collapsed on us partway through and Severus took the brunt of the punishment – it's bad."

Harry paused at this. _Snape doing something heroic? Snape saving the Weasleys? Or at least one of the Weasleys…_

"It just _had_ to be me," Bill whispered hauntingly. "I was the eldest…I was responsible for them…and just because I was sitting closer to the bloody fireplace than Ginny or mum…I'm the one who survives. It's a cruel fate…" Bill stopped for a moment then turned his attention to Harry. "This is getting dangerous Harry. First my family –" he choked up at this. "And now Nym's family…and…Dumbledore."

_Dumbledore?_

"What about Dumbledore?" Harry asked sharply.

Bill looked at him sadly. "I just heard myself from the goblins. I couldn't believe it. I double and triple checked the paperwork, but whoever did this was good. It's completely genuine, legitimate timestamps and all."

"Bill, what happened?" Harry pressed.

"Dumbledore's being charged with embezzling gold from Hogwarts," Bill sighed.

Harry held a preposterous gaze with the lone Weasley.

"Yeah, yeah," Bill said tiredly. "I know…crazy right? But Gringotts has the financial transactions from their Brussels Bank. It's all there. According to McGonagall, Dumbledore was travelling right before the Order came in. No one knows where he is now, least of all mom. I know the charges aren't anything as grandiose as treason or murder, but he's being pursued as a criminal nonetheless. Wherever he is, I don't think he can help us right now. And I think that's exactly what _they_ wanted."

Harry looked to the ground, panic quickly seizing him. _Another ally gone. My list of friends grows shorter by the second. All my options are being taken from me. If I wait too long…soon I won't even have a choice in the matter_.

This would not do. Harry knew he had to act. He had groveled in his own pathetic waste while the shadows worked ceaselessly. He gripped his wand tightly. There was no more time to waste. This last day with Tonks seemed almost a paradise. And now he had to jump back into the fray – in the screams and the fury.

"Harry…"Bill started. "Do you know what you're going to do?"

Harry wondered if Bill knew the implications of the question he asked. He opted for the easier answer.

"Sorry Bill," Harry spoke dryly. "There's still the spy to deal with."

Bill stood up had shot Harry a deadly look of horror. "Me? _Me?_ You think _I'm_ the spy? After everything I've lost?"

"No Bill," Harry sighed. He was surprised over how tempered his emotions seemed at the moment. "But you're part of the Order. And until you find the mole, it's safer for me if no one in the Order knows what I'm doing or where I'm going."

Bill looked at him strangely. "You're different Harry…"

"We all are," Harry mused.

_Maybe me most of all_.

"Ted'll be alright, Harry," Bill assured him. "He's taken the Felix Felicis."

Harry gave Bill a blank look. "It's the liquid luck potion – the most difficult potion to create in the world. Rumor has it there's only one living man who can concoct it. Not even Sna-"

Bill fell silent, choked with emotions. Harry sympathized with Bill.

_He'll be okay. He's more a man than me_.

Tonks soon emerged with her mother – pale but a bit calmer. Her natural beauty was less radiant and mired with worry. Harry rose and gave Andromeda a solid hug. Her trembling hands patted Harry's back.

"Oh Harry, dear, I'm sorry about all the trouble."

Harry shook his head at once. "Don't say that. It's...it's my fault. You two weren't even in the Order. You didn't need to do this but you did it anyway."

She gave him a thin smile as Tonks led them all to a spare room. Bill swatted the many white curtains aside while Tonks set up privacy enchantments. As they finished Andromeda sunk onto the bed with her daughter by her side.

"He'll live," Andromeda whispered. "It'll be a tough recovery…but he'll pull through."

"Thank god," Bill sighed. They all inhaled deeply. Bill voiced what they all were thinking. "We're still in danger." He glanced at Harry again. "Every moment Harry's here endangers Ted more. We've got to get him away."

For some reason this struck a nerve with Harry. He had never been too bothered when these sort of conversations had happened before – when they were all deciding what to do with him. But now…

_I'm the master of my own life. I've got to choose._

"I've got to go," Harry decided. "Andromeda…you've done enough, and Ted too. I'll…I'll try and evade the Aurors and sort this out."

"Not alone you won't," Tonks spoke stubbornly – though her eyes betrayed her. She was undoubtedly terrified for her father.

Harry shook his head slightly. "Tonks…I can't make you just leave your dad…"

"I swore to keep you safe, Harry," Tonks replied. "No matter what, we're in this together now."

Harry shuddered at the thought of making a daughter depart a sick and grievously injured father. Though he did not deny the small comfort he had from Tonks' loyalty. Those past days of shouting and screaming in Godric's Hollow seemed so distant now – a lifetime ago.

"Bill," Tonks called. "The Order is compromised."

Bill nodded. "There's no way the Triads found our last safehouse by themselves. Someone told them…someone…"

"We can't trust the Order anymore," Tonks whispered, almost disbelievingly. "You've got to find whoever gave the Triads our location. I don't know how you're going to do it, but Harry and I are on our own until you do."

Bill ran his hand through his long red hair. "Any idea where to start?"

Tonks eyes hardened. "Kingsley," she hissed. "He's the only one from the Order to have made contact with the safehouse. Maybe he was looking to verify that Harry was still there…"

Harry realized this was not strictly speaking true. There had been another Order member at the safehouse, one that had ample time to observe Harry.

_Tonks_. But he did not mention it and buried it deep beneath more pressing thoughts.

Bill nodded again. He could sense that the more delicate plans could not be discussed with him present. He gave Andromeda a comforting hug and shot a caring look at Tonks. "Lets go for a walk Andromeda. Keep him safe, Nym."

Harry again felt inexplicably riled by how Bill was speaking of him.

The two of them left the room. Once again it was just Harry and Tonks. He took a seat next to Tonks. Four hours ago, everything was perfect – now the fires were roaring once more. Harry knew the question was coming.

"Well Harry," Tonks spoke quietly now. "We come to it at last. We've got to decide now. _You_ have got to decide now. What are you going to do?"

_I'm ready to answer this…I know I'm ready!_

Harry stared at the ground abashedly. "Well…we…we need to regroup, maybe find Dumbledore. I need to get information on these Triads, who they are, who they're working for and why they want me."

"And you-know-who?" Tonks asked with her eyebrow raised.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Well…I better stay off the radar shouldn't I? I need to keep low and get information on the Triads without Voldemort or his Death Eaters catching wind of it."

"You're a wanted man," Tonks reminded him. "Staying off the radar is going to be exceptionally hard now that you need to evade not only the Death Eaters but _all of magical Britain_."

"Fine then," Harry pushed on, tapping his fingers in thought. "Then…then I should run. If I leave Britain, at least I know Voldemort won't follow me. He won't give up his plans on Britain just to chase me. I…I can separate the Triads and Voldemort and deal with them separately."

"Except now you're in a foreign country with no contacts with which to gather information or allies to guard you. And just because Voldemort will not leave the Isles doesn't mean he's above sending one or more of his Death Eaters after you. Have you ever tried international magical transportation? You being the criminal will sure to make an already complicated process even more gnarly."

"Damn it Tonks," he cried exasperatedly. "What do you want from me? Every choice I have seems to be a poor one. But I have to choose something!"

"Of course you do," Tonks spoke and her tone was surprisingly earnest and dear. "And that's the heart of the matter isn't it? You must do something, you must choose. Any of your suggestions we could work with and odds are they all have roughly the same chance of success. Slim to none. But you're the boy-who-lived. You've dealt with worse odds."

"I know this!" exclaimed Harry impatiently.

Tonks turned Harry's head to face her's. They were very close – uncomfortably close. He felt her breathing on his face, her eyes glowing with intensity.

"So then, Potter," she breathed. "You tell me, _what are you going to do_?"

The question resounded in his ears. But then it dawned on him that he had never truly been listening. He was answering the wrong question. Harry almost smiled as he gazed at the Auror, inches away from him. She was not asking him for plans or tactics or strategies or plots. The question was simple – yet he knew he could not give her false answer. She'd know straight away. All his plans, all his plots on what to do: regroup, run, fight, flee…they were all twigs from a greater branch. None would succeed if he didn't first truly, truly realize _what he was going to do_.

He locked eyes with her. In this instance he found something, something he thought he always had, yet now knew he was lacking in. There was a temperament in his bones, a resolve harder than diamonds. The concealments around it, he had ripped apart. And he saw it in himself – the will to go on. To go on no matter what. The boy had been tossed aside. His childhood was behind him. His hopelessness was quenched. His rage was veiled. And in its place, at the apex of his focus, stood determination, steely and shining. It would not sway even for the strongest of tremors. He felt it, in his very bones – he was ready. He was as ready as he ever would be. He was who he needed to be.

"What are you going to do Harry Potter?" she repeated.

His voice echoed the conviction of his mind. He still felt like he was in endless fall. But if he had to fall, then damn it he'd at least do so with a little grace.

Harry Potter found his answer.

"I am going to win."

* * *

The room was bathed in a hazy hue of red and gold – yet the red was tainted and the gold was malicious. The wide walls were adorned with a fresco depicting a mighty bird – wings the size of brooms. A golden bird against a midnight blue canvas. About the painting were many sculptures in bronze and gold and stone – all depicting the rise and fall of the mighty creature. The gilded ceiling was raised high, held by thick crimson pillars and the chamber was filled in an intoxicating scarlet mood.

"Cry for me," whispered the man in the corner. "Burn for me. Give me your wings – give me your fire. Release it to the world."

On his lap was a gangly creature – unrecognizable from what it had once been. Its slender form felt so dark and weak beneath the man's palms. He rubbed callous hands up and down the feeble thing – chanting to himself as he did so. It was unholy, an abominable act worthy of the devils of ancient times. He took no comfort in what he did but did not feel regret. The wheels were turning. More than a decade of planning would soon come to its glorious climax. He thought again to what he had done to the poor creature, it was a sickly and desirable sight. He had plundered from it all that was whole and pure in the world. And he'd do it again. It was an act of a monster. And he was a monster. But not just any monster. He was a Dragon. And he was ready for the fires of the phoenix.

* * *

"We've gotten word that the Aurors have been deployed. You handled the Thief well."

The mediator said nothing.

"I want you to know that your services are appreciated."

"Then give me it back!" the mediator hissed.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. I shall honour my side of the agreement when we finish the job. Now, where are you on Harry Potter?"

"Where are _you_ on Harry Potter?" the mediator countered. "You did raid his safehouse didn't you?"

"He wasn't there. We verified that on site. Two of the residents managed to get away, but they're of no consequence to us. Potter is still abroad and we need him pinned. Did you succeed?"

"I…I spoke with one of the senior staff yesterday night," the mediator stammered. "The goblins are still debating among themselves. I'm certain they'll do it."

"They better," replied the man ominously. "And what is Shanghai saying?"

The mediator knew that this man – Wei – didn't care at all about what Shanghai thought of him. But he thirsted for knowledge so he could better outwit both his allies and his enemies.

"They are not happy that you haven't gotten Harry yet," she reported softly. "They say every day he's abroad draws more attention from our competitors. You did not make any friends with the French criminal network during the Triwizard affair."

"Last I checked, it was _they_ who got greedy and disguised as _your_ classmates. They don't have the nerve to go against us. We _will_ find Potter eventually – it's just a matter of time. Our only concern is the Thief. And you've at least stalled him for the moment. Keep me updated."

* * *

"So…" spoke Andromeda softly.

She and Harry stood in a private room while Tonks and Bill were conversing outside. Her husband would mend – this alone was joy for the ages. But all too soon she would be parted with her daughter – her estranged daughter – but her daughter nonetheless. And it all revolved around this poor young boy.

"You're leaving," she stated.

Harry shrugged his shoulders grimly. "I've got to. Britain is not safe for me anymore."

"Any idea where?"

Harry only nodded. He had thought of little else. "Yeah, I've got somewhere in mind."

"Does Nymphadora know?"

Harry smirked gently. "Not yet. This plan is all me for the moment."

Andromeda stared at him for a long hard moment. "She found it you know – I can tell just by the way she now looks at you."

Harry raised an eyebrow weekly. "Found what?"

"Found what she was looking for. She found the man my cousin had promised. She found the man Dumbledore had nurtured. She found the man who can take his life into his own hands."

Harry looked sullen. "I'm just trying to stay alive at the moment."

"Nevertheless," Andromeda spoke. "I can see in your eyes what I had seen in Ted's, many years ago. Maturity, Harry, is a fickle thing. Some are blessed with it early. Others take the span of their natural lives and still never grasp it. But I see it in you. And so does my daughter. You're about to weave your own tale – you and I know how scary of a thought that is. We both know you're not going to run. You're going after the Triads."

Harry nodded. "At first…I wanted to do this for revenge. Then after that, I wanted to do this so I didn't have to think about…Grimmauld. But…as much as it still hurts, and as much as I miss them, this isn't about them. It's about me. I'm doing this because there's no one else to do it. It's _my_ problem. And I'm the one who has to fix it."

"You've risen Mr. Potter," Andromeda said softly.

Harry noted her words carefully. She had said _risen_. It felt right, even if Harry wasn't entirely sure why. And Mr. Potter? This was the first time he had heard her say this without breaking into tears. It was strange and oddly appropriate. He was about to turn the page. The pen was in his hands and he was now writing the story.

Nymphadora had suddenly entered the room. Her hair was a dark pink. Harry expected it wouldn't be bright for many days to come. She mumbled that Bill had left.

"A minute with my mum, Harry?" she spoke. And Harry quickly exited the room.

He never saw the parting between mother and daughter, a mother rooted in Pureblood honor and pride with a daughter consumed by rebellion and unapologetic honesty. They were estranged, Harry knew. Perhaps it was Tonks' hair. Perhaps it was the dead lineage that Andromeda could never offer her daughter. But despite all differences, they were united by a feeling of decency and integrity. Traits which were wielded by the gentle Ted Tonks. Their parting was a long and solemn affair – the likes of which Harry would never know. Harry did not know when they would return. Perhaps never. And so these two Black women were united in their parting as they had been in their meeting, a simple muggle called Ted Tonks. Harry longed to speak to him one final time, to tell him that he would take care of his daughter, to tell him that Harry Potter, the Chosen One, strove to make this muggle proud. But Harry knew he didn't need to. Ted Tonks already knew all this – and perhaps that was what was so lovable about him. He would live and that was all that mattered.

Harry briefly reflected back to the cemetery at Godric's Hollow, and the pretty girl, Eleanor. He knew for a fact, he was not going back to Godric's Hollow – maybe never again. If there was one thing he would have wished to do, it would have been to talk to Eleanor one last time, to look into her face and tell her she didn't have to wear the hat any longer. Harry would thank this small girl that had helped him through his grief. As bizarre as she was, Harry accepted it – she was his friend, in a time where he needed one the most. Somehow, he knew in his heart he would never see Eleanor again. And he'd never get to say a proper goodbye or thank her. But Harry smiled. She would understand – she would understand perfectly what he had done and what he had yet to do.

Andromeda opened the door between her and Harry and gave him one final embrace, the one a mother gives a son before he's seen off to the world. Harry returned it and held it long. Everything had changed and would continue to change. These were the final moments of this act. A new one was already on the cusp of realization. She let go after what seemed to be minutes, and made her way back to her husband's side.

Harry found Tonks looking out of a window, her eyes red and puffy. She glanced at him and she smiled sadly, despite her tears and sorrow. Harry felt a surge of pride, yet he did not know from where it came.

"We're back in the thick of it now, as it would seem," Tonks mused. "One junior Auror and the Chosen-One versus all of Scrimgeour's division, the Death-Eaters and of course our dear Triad friends. Sounds bleak."

"Bleaker still when the Chosen One has no serious combat training and only knows rudimentary defensive spells and charms," Harry agreed humorously. "On top of that, I'm a wanted man, and we've lost your mum's Polyjuice store. This sounds like the worst idea ever doesn't it?"

Tonks laughed. "You've already done the hardest part already, Harry. What I just saw from you, _that_ is what will keep you alive – not how many spells you can cast. You're more prepared than you think, Chosen One. Spells and charms come easy. But maturity? Not so much. So where to now Harry? We don't exactly have any leads to follow up on the Triads."

"Not quite," Harry retrieved the note that had been given to him moments before all this mess had begun. "Someone has been writing to me on this note. It saved my life. Somewhere out there, we have a friend."

Tonks took the letter and read it aloud. "Anywhere you think to go, they know. Do not stop running. Do not stay in Britain. Do not go to France. Do not stop running." She paused to register this and then looked back at Harry. "So what are we going to do with this?"

Harry smiled. "Of all places, the message said explicitly to avoid France."

"Makes sense if we're running away from them." Harry reasoned. "But I don't plan on doing a whole lot of running…"

Tonks slowly began to nod and her eyes brightened.

"You know," Harry said casually, "I don't think America would suit me."

Tonks smiled. "I have to admit, I'm a bit impartial about Seville. But I hear Paris is lovely this time of year."

Harry's wide grin told her all she needed to know. Despite all that happened, and all the fury they had against each other, she could not conceal the proud look on her face. Nor could Tonks hide the look of victory and sheer satisfaction. She grinned again.

_This _was the Harry she'd been waiting on.

* * *

**Author's Note:** A short chapter, I know. On the plus side, the pace will pick up significantly with Act II. We'll soon see Harry escape Britain and try to forge his own path. There he will endeavor to discover the goals of these Triads while being pursued by all manner of foes. The brunt of this adventure is ready to begin.


	5. 10 Seconds

**Chapter 4: 10 seconds**

Quantus Portkey International Connections was located in what most wizards considered 'muggle broom transportation', only slower, larger and more expensive – and with more probing. Muggles however, called the building an airport – Heathrow International to be specific. QPI was not so much _in_ Heathrow so much as it _was_ Heathrow. The integration of magic and muggle worlds was invented seventy years ago by a distant relative of Nicholas Flammel. This magical pioneer and architect reportedly took the Elixir of Life for two-hundred years in order to finish his masterpiece. It had spread widely across most of the known wizarding world including Hogwarts Express and St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Simply put, Quantus Connections _was_ Heathrow Airport. One needed only to enter any of the washrooms on the left side of the doorframe holding the tip of his or her wand – and then enter the world of wonders and madness. Little did either world know that these two establishments inhabiting the same space also carried vastly different reputations. One of them was fine and pristine – the other was decidedly not.

"Why can't I just apparate across the Channel?" Harry asked again.

Tonks rolled her eyes. "For the fifth time, the wards! International Apparation is a serious crime, laid down by the ICW and enforced by every recognized magical nation. If you try to apparate across the channel, you'll go through the 'Processing Ward' as we like to call it. You'll be tossed around Britain at ungodly speeds until your vomit's vomit wants to vomit. Then you'll somehow end up in a holding cell at the Ministry. Trust me, it's not pleasant – it was sort of an Auror initiation thing. Though, it's better than trying to apparate over the Atlantic. Ha, those Americans put up the Hard Ward. Many a wizard has tried to Apparate across the ocean only to fall out halfway through and drown in the middle of the Atlantic."

"So there's absolutely no way of doing it?"

"Well technically no ward is _completely_ impenetrable," Tonks mused. "I suppose I _might_ be able to get around maybe one international ward at most – but I would have to know the patterns of the ward _completely_ and concentrate for hours and hours just for a single apparation.

"And you said catching an international floo connection is only authorized on a dozen or so fireplaces in Britain," Harry reasoned slowly. "So unless we want to break into Fudge's residence or something, I guess Porkey is the best way."

"Not just any Portkey," Tonks reminded him. "A 10-second portkey – made for those who must frequently cross international borders. Less paperwork. Once the doors open, there is only a ten second window where the Portkey is still operational. Passengers file into the connection chamber and place a hand on the Portkey-rail. At the end of the tenth second, it activates. Quick, legal and meticulous."

"And if we miss the window?"

"Then that particular connection is gone for good."

"What's to stop some random person from walking into the connection chamber and taking a free Portkey?"

"The doorways are warded according to your wand signature," Tonks explained. "No one else can get into the chambers except for those who have purchased the ticket."

It was early evening at Heathrow. There was still a surprising buzz in the airport. Harry and Tonks stopped in front of a woman's washroom – Harry invisible as always. Tonks winked and then with her hand grasping the wand in her pocket, strolled through the left side of the washroom entrance and around the corner. Harry looked nervously up at the women's washroom sign but followed Tonks.

As soon as Harry rounded the corner, he couldn't help but stare agape at the scene before him. Either he was at Quantus Connections or Heathrow Airport had the largest and most secure toilets in the world. They were in a lobby of sorts whose high ceiling of glass was held with deep ebony beams. Light poured in through all directions. Around him, near other walls were set doorways, where a constant stream of people was now appearing through other Heathrow bathrooms. The lobby was entirely bathed in light and its soft whiteness exuded both an uncharacteristically ultramodern ambiance for the magical world and a sense of undisturbed professionalism. Harry leaned against part of the nearby wall with Tonks by his side.

Harry took in the scene with awe. If this was Quantus Connections on a quiet day, Harry didn't fathom to think how this grand lobby would look on a busy one. He gazed directly in front of him, where beneath an enormous archway of glass and black metalwork were aligned in a row, many dozens of small gates, manned by pretty ladies. Beyond this 'check-in', the lobby funneled out into the secured area, where laid many small teahouses and the vast array of connection chambers. Harry watched as each wizard would present his or her documents to the concierge at the gate. The gates were no so much barred by steel or wood as they were barred by water. A gentle blanket of water flowed endlessly from the top of the gate to the floor, never making any splash or puddle. Tonks informed him that it was a security enchantment appropriated from the goblins, which would destroy any and all magical concealments. Behind the concierge and the gates, stood tall men and women with blue robes and heavy ominous staves. Harry guessed it must be the security – he didn't like the look of those staves one bit.

"If Kingsley really is the snitch," started Tonks. "And if all this is an elaborate trap…"

"Then we'll both be cursed half way to hell as soon as we tell the concierge these fake names that he gave us," Harry noted cheerfully. "But at least I'll be _mature_ while it's happening, right?"

"Remember the non-verbal Confundus charm I told you," Tonks whispered. "We might need it if Kingsley's turned."

Tonks made her way to the front desk on the left, where a handful of witches and wizards were gathering hastily to purchase last minute connection spots. Tonks at the moment was sporting golden locks that fell near her back and blue eyes that put the sea to shame. She smiled prettily at the onlookers, much to Harry's chagrin. Dazzled wizards hastily made way for Tonks, who with a few bat of the eyes managed to cut a path between the crowd towards the front desk. Harry followed, now grateful he was spared weaving through the crowds.

"Good afternoon," she spoke in a high pitch voice. "I'd like to verify the reserved seats I made a few days ago."

The concierge nodded dutifully. "Names for the reservation?"

"Ella Williams."

The concierge repeated those names and an enormous leather-bound ledger flew open onto a precise page. She read it carefully. Both Harry and Tonks tensed. Harry was twirling his wand lazily around his fingers. A drawn wand was slightly strange, but nothing extraordinarily unusual. He solemnly hoped he did not have to confound the receptionist. So far however, she looked calm as if it were business as usual.

"Miss Williams, I have two of your spots on a 10 second connection to Pamplona – chamber 22 at eight in the morning tomorrow," reported the concierge.

"I've had a change of heart," Tonks replied sweetly. "You can only watch running bulls so often before it gets rather bland. I was hoping we might get a transfer to…say Paris?"

The woman muttered more words. "You're in luck Miss Williams, we just opened up another Paris connection, same time as before. 10-seconds, as usual, at chamber 68 tomorrow. Will that do?"

Tonks nodded gratefully with her golden locks swishing back and forth. "Oh and…do go ahead and reserve all the spots on that connection for me."

The concierge was taken aback. "All – all of the spots? Miss, that is quite a large sum of money…"

"I paid for our tickets with a Credit Oath correct? Redeemable at Gringotts? Well put it on the same tab," Tonks smiled with a hint of cruelty. But she didn't feel too bad. Kingsley made way more than her anyway – loads more than he ought to.

The arrangements were made. Harry shuffled around nervously, minding anyone who came too close for comfort. The concierge did not look distressed, but nevertheless Harry held his wand close, ready for an army of Aurors to come bursting through the walls at any moment.

They had exited Quantus Connections and were now in a busy parking lot, leaning against empty cars. Harry, veiled in the Invisibility Cloak once again, was laughing nervously. His anxiety was screaming.

"I suppose this means Kingsley's not the snitch," Harry reasoned.

"Maybe. But we haven't connected yet. The Aurors may already know and plan on tailing us, who knows? Maybe slap on another charge of illegal international portkey travel? We're not out of the woods yet. I probed the receptionist's mind – didn't see any panic or alarm there, but I'm no Legilimency expert by any means."

"Which is why you booked all the spots in the Paris connection for ourselves."

"Exactly. Can never be too careful. Constant Vigilance, right? If everything goes right, we can avoid being tailed to France, at least for a little while."

Harry tried to calm the exciting feeling in his stomach. He was finally doing something. Granted, he was running away from the authorities, but these plans were his own – he was the one setting this in motion. It felt satisfying and terrifying.

He spoke again. "And if Kingsley _is_ planning on arresting us before we board?"

"Why, Harry, that's why we have Percy."

This was Tonks' idea, and Harry was less than comfortable with it. After Tonks had told Harry of the situation between Percy and his family, he thought of only one word – _prick_. Percy was a spineless prick – perhaps it was in poor form to say this of a man who had lost his family, but it was the truth. And Harry was unsure if the Weasley would be thinking clear enough to help them.

_Funny, Tonks thought the same of me…_

"I still don't trust the git."

"Death changes people, Harry. You should know, more than anyone."

_I went from a brat to less of a brat. I suppose going from a git to less of a git can't be that much of a stretch._

They had left Heathrow for a nearby downtrodden Motel. Tonks checked the remainder of their Polyjuice – enough for an hour maybe and it wouldn't get them through that Thief's Downfall gate. Ten seconds. That was their entire window. If they didn't make it between that unforgivably brief interval of time, they were done. 10 seconds would decide the rest of his life – whether he was to go on fighting or if he was to be locked up in a Ministry cell waiting for the Death Eaters, the Triads or the law to get to him. He had to be on the right side of the chamber doors on those 10 seconds.

That night, Harry hardly slept at all. His body was coursing with adrenaline. Tonks was lying on the opposite bed, already breathing softly in sleep. He thought on his new companion. Much of the ill-will he bore her had subsided. The condescension and the loftiness had slowly left her voice and she was viewing him as Harry desired to be viewed. An equal…a partner. This was his ship and he was bound to screw it up somehow. He had to rely on this feisty Metamorphmagus to steer clear of the rocks. The storms would batter him, the waves would smash him and the sheer breadth of the sea would swallow his hope. But he had to push on, and reach that new shore – the decidedly French shore.

_Anywhere you think to go, they know. Do not stop running. Do not stay in Britain. Do not go to France. Do not stop running._

The words replayed in Harry's mind. Whoever it was giving him the messages had to be working with the Triads in some capacity. But then why did this guy want to save him? Better yet, why were the Triads after him at all? Harry groaned slightly in frustration. Cho Chang was the only Chinese person he could think of having interacted with – and she had lived most of her life in Britain! He couldn't recall hearing about Cho Chang from Ravenclaw using unorthodox magic. His mind was getting hazy in a slow fall into slumber. He drifted away from the pretty Asian Ravenclaw girl onto the stout Hufflepuff champion of Hogwarts, a smile etched on his face. And a green jet of light. And then to a surly seeker, bulk with muscle and giving no quarter to anyone. Then last to a girl with silvered hair commanding the beauty of the world. And sleep found him at last – as he retired from the day.

The following morning had come. Tonks had doused Harry in water in order to make sure he was awake. A very wet and angry Harry Potter had stormed into the washroom, intent on changing his clothes. Their morning meal was a tenuous affair, both minds thinking on the challenge to come. They had gone over the plan several times, each time wearing Harry down. Tonks had grabbed him quickly and with a quick crack, they had appeared in a deserted parking lot before Heathrow. The doors were soon before them and Harry paused to collect his wits.

7:00

"Are you ready for this?" she asked him.

Harry took a deep breath, quelling his erratically beating heart. He nodded to her.

"Alright then, Harry," Tonks began her way towards the front doors. "Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix."

The doors opened wide and Tonks stepped in, followed by Harry wearing the face of a thin sandy-haired fellow with grey eyes and a slackened jaw. The closest washroom was a few hundred paces away. But Tonks' pace had slowed as she scanned the sea of faces. Something was already horribly wrong and a sickening feeling crept into her gut. Before they had even started, already the situation had descended into a nightmare of a situation. She took Harry's hand, beckoning him to stop. Turning to him, she whispered into his ear.

"Do you see the man in the leather jacket with the green cap?"

Harry scanned the crowd before finding him. The man was leaning on a wall but looked anything but leisurely. Harry nodded ever so slightly.

"And on the opposite wall, the one with the red ponytail and glasses?"

Harry found him and nodded again – nervousness beginning to set in properly.

"Death Eaters? Or Triads?" he whispered.

"Neither," Tonks hushed. "They're my _coworkers_."

Harry observed more carefully and realized something was amiss. There were a dozen people, stationed all around the airport lobby, all stationary, all waiting for something. Every once in a while, their lips would move as if saying something to no one. The crowds went by, but _they_ never moved – only their eyes.

"Dawlish, Grimes, Iverson…" counted Tonks softly. "Sanderson, Gibbs, Bayes…wait here Harry."

Before he could protest, Tonks had vanished from his side. The man with the green cap had gone into one of the washrooms on the right hand side – avoiding entering Quantus Connections. Harry nearly gasped as Tonks followed him right in.

Her mind was thinking on the fly as she followed Maynard Bayes into the men's bathroom. In the blind corner, she morphed back into her pink hair and pale skin. Tonks rounded the corner, catching Bayes' eye. His eyebrow shot up in surprise.

"Tonks?" he called. "Hold up."

The washroom was empty and the Auror waved his wand from his pocket, muttering enchantments to ward off eavesdroppers. He looked back to the pink-haired Auror. "Kingsley told me you were on vacation."

"They pulled me back for the operation," Tonks spoke, irritated. "Is Kingsley here?"

"Nah, he's hitting Heckman International. Keaton is on North Star Port and Scrimgeour is taking King's Key. So they assigned you here, eh? Well sorry about the vacation…not likely Potter will show up here."

"Scrimgeour is hitting four Key providers at the same time?" Tonks asked, trying to hide her bewilderment. Bayes looked momentarily suspicious.

"No…he's hitting all of them…weren't you briefed?"

"Like I said, I was pulled back and they just tossed me here," Tonks said hastily. "What's the situation now?"

"Nothing right now," the Auror sighed, fiddling with his cap. "Had a row with the Quantus manager. Scrimgeour's got the warrants for the other thirty or so Key providers. We're still waiting on ours so we can't go in yet. But that doesn't mean we can't stay in the entrance in case Potter walks by."

_Percy…you sly thing…_

Bayes ordered her to blend into the crowd with the other dozen Aurors and lay low. Dutifully, she exited the washroom morphing and returned to Harry who was nervously tapping his foot on the ground, right where she left him. This was bad – the Aurors were already here. She leaned against Harry.

"Don't freak out. But the entire Auror division is hitting the Key providers," she hissed softly. "We've got a lucky break – they haven't gotten a warrant yet on this one. They're not being allowed into Quantus – the best they can do is guard the bloody washrooms. Come on, we can do this. Steady your hands, breath deep…go time."

7:15

At that moment the bespectacled man with the red ponytail walked dangerously close to them. Harry felt a sick sensation in his gut – cold and terrifying. He felt paralyzed with fear. This was one of the worst scenarios they had planned for – but the _had_ planned for it. He tried to remember that, overcoming this brief panic and think back to the plan – a plan he had concocted. He swallowed deeply and made for the washroom. As he rounded the corner, he saw the Auror Bayes on his way out. Harry almost yelped in alarm, but quickly the Auror vanished and Harry was now in Quantus Connections grand lobby.

He laughed nervously trying to calm himself more than anything. "Murphy's Law right?"

"What?"

"Nevermind. It's 7:20. Come on, our connection is in fourty minutes."

The line was manageable as they waited to enter the gates. Harry found himself fidgeting more and more, Tonks having to berate him sternly.

"Have you ever done something like this before?" Harry asked tentatively, talking was the only thing that seemed to soothe his nerves.

"Of course not."

"Perfect," Harry breathed out again. "Bloody perfect."

He felt a firm hand clasp him on the shoulder. He spun a bit too quickly and saw a friendly old wizard giving him a grin. "Don't you fret, son. Never taken an international key before? Easier than walking, it is. Nothing to fear! Ha!"

Harry shared a chuckle with the wizard and turned back to the line. The gates of water caught his eye. Tonks called it the Thief's Downfall. Most of their planning had revolved around beating this one enchantment. The problem was, as it was made of goblin craft, no one truly knew the limitations of the Thief's Downfall and the goblins – little bastards as Tonks would say – weren't so eager in revealing their secrets to wizards and witches.

_I'm not a thief. I haven't stolen anything. I paid for my own damn ticket…or Kingsley did at least…_

"We'll be fine," he said, more to himself. _We can beat this_.

Tonks rolled her eyes again. "Thanks, I really needed that."

7:25

Any muggles so fortunate as to be at Heathrow at quarter to eight on a Friday morning would have been blessed to the odd sight of one gruff authoritative figure, a towering black man and a particularly tall and handsome suited man grab a loiterer in a green cap and almost drag him into the woman's washroom.

"Fuck off, Keaton," barked Bayes, batting away the other Auror's hand.

"What the hell is going on?" Scrimgeour snarled. "You are supposed to have this place locked down, Bayes!"

"It's not my fault," protested the Auror in question. "I didn't get a warrant like the rest of you!"

Scrimgeour's eyes narrowed. "I made sure that Malfoy's office was to sign warrants on _all_ Key providers – Quantus was most definitely included on that list."

Bayes gave an exasperated look to Kingsley. "Well did you get him?"

Kingsley shook his head. "Nothing yet. All other thirty-two Key providers are locked down. Yours is the only one left."

Bayes suddenly felt small and incompetent. But it wasn't his damn fault that some intern at the Chief Warlock's office had lost his warrant!

Scrimgeour leaned over a sink and thought silently. "All our warrants went through…all of them except Quantus."

Neither of the three veteran Aurors spoke, though Bayes swore he could see a bead of sweat on Kingsley's brow – a man known for his determined poise.

"Well Shaklebolt?" Scrimgeour demanded. "You still think we should have placed Quantus at the end of the list?"

Kingsley started, "With all due respect sir-"

Scrimgeour interrupted him gruffly. "He's here. Potter is here, I know it. Why else would our warrant mysteriously have gotten lost? And only this one? Somehow he must have blocked the warrant."

Bayes looked outraged. That line of thought would never have been acceptable in any other situation – hardly a line of inquiry worthy of further investigation. But Scrimgeour, it seems, was playing his own game, investigative professionalism be damned. Once a man known for the scalpel-like precision of his investigative work, was now content to be a bull in a china shop. Maynard Bayes realized how insignificant Potter actually was in this situation. In fact, Potter had done Scrimgeour a favor if he actually had turned up at such an internationally prestigious Key provider as Quantus. This could cause career-ending fallouts.

"Potter's just a boy! How can he influence the Chief Warlock's affairs? Besides, we've been here since six," Bayes replied. "Haven't seen anything unusual."

"We're standing in Heathrow," Keaton admonished. "Dumbledore in his pointy hat could have been here and you wouldn't have noticed."

"Enough," growled Scrimgeour. "We're going in."

Almost before Scrimgeour had spoken, Kingsley had protested again. "Sir, we don't have the authority! Lets just send a message to the Chief Warlock's office, clear up the confusion and we can do this cleanly as soon as we get the warrant."

"That's just the sort of delay he's looking for!" Scrimgeour snapped loudly. "I want him found. And I want him found now! Bayes, move your men into Quantus Connections."

Bayes picked at his wand hesitantly and even Keaton looked uncomfortable. "They've stationed security wizards right outside the doors. Without a warrant sir…"

"Fuck the warrant. I've got an official directive from the Minister to apprehend Potter at all costs. I do as my superiors tell me and if you value your careers, so do you. Go in with force, wands drawn. Make it clear to the security wizards that if they try to stop us, they will be willingly aiding a fugitive and be treated as such."

There was raw power and…ambition in Scrimgeour's voice. Keaton nodded vigorously, ever the yes man. Bayes was finally persuaded and he exited swiftly, eagerly followed by Keaton. Scrimgeour made to enter Quantus himself, drawing his black wand.

"This won't go well with the Minister," cautioned Kingsley, taking out his wand.

"No," said Scrimgeour. "No it won't."

7:35

Tonks had reached the front of the line. She gave Harry a confident look and upon the security witch's bidding, she stepped through the gate of water. It dashed her hair and cascaded down her shoulders and slender form. Tonks emerged the other side, still the large-eyed mousy brunette she had been using. Harry had on more than one occasion, eyed her Metamorphmagus talents with envy. She was completely dry, not a drop of water on her. It was Harry's turn. He gulped, hoping his nervousness was not showing.

"Sir?" asked the witch. " Would you please step through the gate?"

Harry nodded numbly, handing another witch his documentation. His wand, as protocol was clearly seen in his right hand. He muttered the enchantment in his head once more. And then he prepared to beat the damn thing.

Angry voices could distantly be heard to the right of Harry. They escalated. And then…

BANG

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw one of the navy robed security wizards go to the ground, stunned into sleep. Over his body stepped an assortment of figures, large intimidating and all openly brandishing wands. Quantus Security reacted immediately, their staves in hand, alarm and danger on their minds. Screams were hurled even before the Security guard hit the floor. Those on the floor erupted in a frenzy. A deafening alarm screamed overhead, echoing in the vast arches of Quantus Connections.

"Aurors!" cried a loud voice. "Stand down! Stand down! Everyone stay put! Drop the staffs! Drop them!"

Security Wizards looked conflicted but the customers, thinking they were in the middle of a raid or a soon-to-be firefight were in a terrified panic. Harry protested suddenly as someone inadvertently shoved him forward. He stumbled unprepared. He could see everything as if time had slowed – the plan was falling apart. He felt gravity tug at him and he uselessly flailed his arms as he tripped and fell – fell into the Thief's Downfall.

7:45

_No! I haven't gotten it ready yet!_

He caught Tonks' gaze, a look of desperation, even as her form was wavering behind the curtain of falling water. He felt it hit his head first. Harry felt something impossibly sticky slide off him– definitely not normal water. The Polyjuice was ruined. He braced his fall with his arms as he toppled through gate, on his hands and knees. His heart stopped and he wondered how long it was before he was behind bars.

Then nothing happened. Shivering in the unknown, he raised his head. None of the security wizards were looking at him. They were preoccupied with the growing phalanx of Aurors shouting and approaching. Harry was forgotten for a moment, only for a moment. He forgot to breath and let out a heavy sigh. Somehow, impossibly over the roar of the siren, a Security Wizard beside him gazed down. The Security Wizard saw the only thing he'd ever have to see – a lightning scar atop green eyes.

But his staff was bulky, meant for brute enforcement and power. Harry's nimble wand, already drawn, pointed at the man's chest. With nothing more than a flick, Harry saw the security wizard drop his staff and shake his head as if in a daze. Harry got to his feet, flying towards Tonks as now the crowds were growing more frantic.

"You never saw me," he whispered to the utterly confused Security Wizard.

_Nonverbal confundus charm, check._

When he reached Tonks his heart was beating at dangerous levels and blood was pounding in his ears. His pace slowed, trying to act normal. The Quantus lobby was behind him, as was perhaps two dozen Aurors and many more Security Wizards. He mastered the urge to look back at the frenzied scene. Tonks gathered him and they walked as fast as they could without drawing attention. Tonks forced his head low as she heard staffs falling to the ground – Security Wizards finally acceding to the Aurors.

7:50

"Merlin, Harry," muttered Tonks, her own voice between fright and excitement. "To hell with Felix Felicis, I'm keeping you for good luck."

Harry could hear a loud angry voice behind him.

"Deactivate the connections!"

"How dare you! A raid on these poor people and attacking my security? Warrantless? You'll be looking for a new job after this Scrimgeour!"

"I said close off your Portkey connections!"

"I can't!" The smugness was so thick it could have been chewed. "Portkey maintenance is done offsite, specifically for situations like these!"

"For the love of – Bayes take your men and bar the entrances! Keaton, find out how to shut the Portkeys down. The rest of you with me! The first morning connections haven't yet gone! Potter's still here somewhere!"

Tonks and Harry were walking away more rapidly now, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the lobby as possible. Tonks brushed past many surprised customers, curiously looking back at the lobby – grateful they had come early. They were now in a great hallway that ran off forever, with many intersections with side avenues. High ceilings were still maintained and there was too much light for comfort – hardly a shadow to be seen and certainly not conditions for sneaking around. And floating in mid-air semi-translucently, were a great many signs, all directions for connection chambers. All this was guesswork on Harry's part. He couldn't actually see anything but his own two feet as Tonks was shoving his head down as much as possible. Any more and he thought his neck would snap. They heard a definite splash behind them. Aurors had forced their way through gates. The goblin craft did not take kindly to the intrusion and the Aurors were left drenched.

The Aurors were behind them, several hundred feet away, but nonetheless, with a clear viewing of them. Most other people had pressed themselves against the wall, trying to avoid the Aurors' inquisition. In hindsight, it would probably have been better to have copied them.

7:55

Harry could feel Tonks shivering in alarm – or perhaps he was the one shivering. Nevertheless his nerves were being fried by anxiety as he waged a continual war to keep his head from looking back – wondering if the Aurors were within arm's reach. He glanced up for a moment. He saw a nearby sign.

CHAMBERS 50 – 100

At that moment, his heart leapt as an Auror was now shouting out down the hall.

"You there! Wait!"

Tonks muttered something inaudibly and marched forward faster. The tension was about to eat him whole.

"I said stop!"

Harry saw the Metamorphmagus' knuckles were white as she gripped her wand like a lifeline. They were about to be found – he knew it.

"Sir! I think I have som-"

Tonks had spun around quicker than Harry could even follow. In one fluid motion her wand was drawn and she had sent a red jet of light towards their dear Auror tracker. The Auror, though shocked, blocked the first stunner but could not raise a shield to stop the second. It hit him in the shoulder and he crumpled to the ground. Without looking back, Tonks grabbed Harry.

"Run."

All bets were off. The Aurors knew and Harry could be seen as plain as day. Spells and charms flew over their heads as Aurors from afar had spotted them. Tonks was brilliantly casting off silver-hued walls of ethereal light that were absorbing the incoming charms and refusing to shatter.

"Come on Harry!" she urged him.

His legs were aching as they raced forward. They cut into a side hallway, now with access to chambers 50 to 100. Their chamber was closing in. The Aurors were hot on their heels – already rounding the corner.

"_Stupefy!"_

"_Impedimenta!"_

"_ALAI TALAE!"_

They had broken through Tonks' silver shield wall and were hurling things at the pair with all fury. Harry fired several curses back at them, though his aim was dreadfully off. They cut into another hallway again, trying to break the line of sight. Harry could already here footsteps.

7:57

"You remember when I mentioned Murphy's Law?"

"Yeah?" Tonks yelled back.

"This is it," Harry shouted. A sudden feeling came on him and he lifted his wand. "_Expecto Patrononum_."

A great silver beast had shot out of Harry's wand at frightening speed. It was not a stag – or anything like it. It was flying. Two Aurors rounded the corner and they yelped in alarm as this mighty silver bird came flying towards them – harmless as they were. Tonks used the distraction and fired off two expertly placed hexes. Upon being hit, both men collapsed to the ground, their legs flailing about them as if they were marionettes under a mad master.

"Good thinking."

Now they heard footsteps before them as well. Tonks cursed and pushed Harry into yet another small alley of Quantus. Harry longed to catch his breath, but the thought of angry Aurors whipped him over the head.

_This place was an utter maze. How could anyone find their way around here?_

"They're cornering us in, Harry!" Tonks cried over the alarm. "Listen, we've got to buy you more time to get you to chamber sixty-eight! I think this is where we part!"

Harry turned to her and almost lost his footing as he was now staring back at a mirror image of himself. "No. Whatever you're thinking…"

"I prepared you the best way I knew how," Tonks spoke to him in earnest. "Remember, wizards are made of mettle, not by spellwork. You'll be fine! Keep your head down and your wits about you. I'll find you. Oh! And remember, if you get in trouble with the French, just say '_va te faire foutre'_ – they'll love that!"

"Tonks…I can't…"

"You can do this Harry!" she shouted. "I know you can! You've got a ten second window! Don't blow it!"

She pressed her wand against Harry's forearm. It stung him and for a moment left a small yellow glowing circle on his arm before disappearing. Tonks' wand did the same. "So I can find you in Paris."

Harry nodded as they ran. The thought of her leaving made him feel weak at the knees and uncomfortably cold. Just as soon as she'd come, she'd have to leave. This was truly his fight – he couldn't count on her forever. Aurors had rounded the corner. Tonks eyes widened. Scrimgeour himself was leading the men. Even the grim-faced Head Auror let his emotions betray him as he momentarily halted and gazed upon two Harry Potters – identical in everyway. The alarm was growing even louder as the chamber numbers grew. Harry saw the sign above.

LEFT FOR CHAMBERS 60 – 69

RIGHT FOR CHAMBERS 70 – 100

The intersection was right before them. Harry was going left. It made him shiver to think Tonks had to go right.

"I never imagined having to visit Paris under an invisibility cloak," Harry laughed one last time before he reached the intersection.

"Well then it's a good thing you're a Metamorphmagus!" Tonks hollered, already dashing away in the opposite direction.

_Wait…what?_

But Tonks was already flying in the opposite direction – and if Harry wanted to catch his connection, he'd have to run for his life.

7:58

"Sir!" bellowed Keaton, who had now joined the fray. "There are two of them!"

"I can see just as well as you can!" shouted Scrimgeour furiously. "You go left, I go right!" _How on earth had this little schoolboy gotten past the security?_

Harry was panting hard. Already without Tonks beside him he felt insecure and embarrassingly forlorn – a silly thing to feel, especially in a moment like this. His body forced more adrenaline into his system and he powered through the burning sensation of his muscles.

7:59

Harry winced aloud. Only two Aurors were following him. The rest must have somehow realized that the other Harry was the more dangerous threat. Despite the peril of his situation, he took the time to feel peeved and indignant. At that moment, however, Harry yelped audibly. His arm had been clipped good with a particularly potent Stinging Jinx. His arm was already inflamed in irritated red skin – luckily it was not his wand arm as he was sure that was the aim. Over his shoulder he fired a Reductor at a polished stone bench. It exploded asunder and the flying shrapnel at least slowed his attacker down.

He had made his way back to a larger hall with chamber doors on the walls. A few people were huddled together, unsure of what to do. Harry flew past them. He was cutting it close. They had planned it out this way, only arriving just in time for the connection. But neither of them had anticipated it would come down to mere seconds. He had less than sixty seconds now.

_63, 64, 65…_

8:00

Like clockwork, the doors to the upcoming chamber 68 swung open, their rich black carvings now showered in new light. The chambers were opened, beckoning on customers to rich new lands and exotic experiences to be had.

_Ten seconds_.

Another Stinging hex was fired over Harry's head. He ducked and threw himself into the chamber. It was empty save for the likes of him.

_Tonks should be here_.

But at least he had made it. Just that sparse thought was enough to make Harry whoop in joy. He made sure to grab the Portkey rail tightly. A flurry of footsteps was heard. The two Aurors pursuing Harry had spotted him. Seconds were ticking away. Furiously, the Aurors charged at Chamber 68 only to be thrown back by an invisible force. They were thrown back to the opposing wall and laid there still and unconscious. A desperate few seconds remained. Harry quickly fired off Confundus charms as powerful as he could. Hopefully they'd at least forget what chamber they had found him in. It would buy him a day maybe. In the final seconds, he veiled himself in the Invisibility Cloak he had kept in his pocket.

_I hope Tonks is okay._

Just as the thought came to mind, the 10 seconds had finished. The Portkey activated. And Harry's body was whisked away, far away, out of London, across the channel and into the heart of France.

* * *

8:03

"I take it back," Tonks muttered to herself, sprinting down hallways. "I could_ really_ do with some liquid luck."

She glanced up at a nearby clock. It read 8:03. 10 second Portkeys operated every five minutes on the minute. A blue beam of light was sent at her, courtesy of Scrimgeour, hot on her heels. She redirected it and the poor clock was reduced to pieces.

"STOP POTTER!" her boss roared at her.

Behind her boss, many other Aurors were chasing her down. Nymphadora Tonks was in her element – not a clue what to do. She thrived on the seconds of chase and her mind and experience were better equipped than any of these Aurors to conjure up a plan easier than Snape could conjure up a vial. She had missed her 10-second connection to Paris, courtesy of her dear boss. Never did she account for Scrimgeour ignoring the lack of a warrant and going ahead with the raid. It was completely out of character for him. Now, if luck was on their side, Harry was in Paris, hopefully keeping his head low. Tonks wanted to spare another moment's thought on the young man, but turned her attentions to her own dire matters. 8:05 was the next round of 10-second connections. Only, she no longer had the wand authorization to pass through the chamber wards.

Briefly she considered surrendering. By now, Harry had to be safe away in France. She had hoped to join up with him later and protect him as she had sworn, but he was already becoming more able than even _he_ knew. She had safely gotten him out of the country while the Aurors were hunting him. That alone made her feel proud – just as proud as closing a case with the Aurors. But if she were caught…aiding a criminal and attempting international portkey theft, losing her job would be the least of her concerns. She'd face Azkaban for sure and leave a distraught mother and weakened father behind. And she'd leave Harry behind.

_No surrender for Nymphadora Tonks. My blood is Black. I'm bloody unstoppable._

8:04

Spells were being fired with reckless abandon. The hallway was nearly empty – people were fleeing to the lobby now. She spotted one small lady, hiding underneath one of the many stone benches, as Tonks again had to dive out of the way of fire, returning curses of her own.

"Sorry lady," Tonks yelled, as she ran past her. "_Expelliarmus._"

Both wand and ticket flew into Tonks' hand. Tonks read it desperately. "Chamber 81…8:05…Valencia…perfect!"

Tonks spun around. "_ALAI TALAE."_

She was gambling that there was enough ambient energy for her to cast the same silvered wall for the second time. Luckily it held, though it was noticeably thinner than the first. With the hall now divided between her and Scrimgeour's enraged face, she dashed forward again. Her eyes were glancing at every doorway and sign for chamber 81.

_10_

Scrimgeour had cut down the wall much too quickly. It made a screeching sound as the defenses broke.

_9_

Tonks had twirled and casted the strongest wide Bludgeoner she could. It had caught them off guard and swept three nearby Aurors off their feet, though Scrimgeour had wisely ducked.

_8_

She saw it! She saw chamber 81. Its doors were already opened. She had even less time than she thought. Wordlessly, she casted Shield charms at her back, knowing they would do little to stop the powerful attacks of Scrimgeour.

_7_

Tonks took aim at more stone benches and banished them towards the two remaining Aurors and her boss. It didn't even look like Kingsley tried to dodge it, and he fell away rather suddenly.

_6_

Dawlish was more stubborn, but he too would wake up in a couple hours with a broken face.

_5_

She was going to make it – she just knew it. A triumphant grin was on her face as she let loose another Stunner which was powerful enough to make Scrimgeour stumble as he redirected it back towards her.

_4_

The rogue stunner blasted into a nearby stack of Quantus customer satisfaction leaflets, sending flocks of flapping paper into the sky.

_3_

Tonks gripped the cold doors and thrust herself inside, feeling satisfied as the wand she had taken from the old lady had allowed her entrance. There were more than a dozen people already in the chamber, terrified and ready to leave Britain.

_2_

She launched herself and grasped the rail. At the last moment, she looked back at Scrimgeour, feet away from her, outside the chamber with the strong wand…he was also holding two wands.

_Wait, where did he get the second wand?_

Tonks eyes went wide upon what could come next.

_1_

She felt a hand grip her leg an instant before the Portkey whisked them all away.


	6. Beyond Britain

**Author's Note: So here's Act II. I took a little break to try and map out the entire act and make sure things have some sort of flowing progression to it. Ended up scrapping the chapter several times – I'm still not entirely satisfied with it. I've been putting it off for a while, but what the hell, here it is. This is a short chapter to get settled in. Excitement is soon to follow.**

* * *

ACT II

**Chapter 5: Beyond Britain**

Harry was panting. The dark shadowy forms of Parisian architecture loomed above him. The moon stared down at him derisively as Harry raced on. His feet clacked on the stony floor. He was behind schedule. Worse, he had lost track of the target. Harry furiously chastised himself and turned the next corner, past the yellowed lights gently glowing from nearby windows. It seemed warm and comely – far more welcoming than the cold night in the rain, chasing ghosts, elusive as the rain.

Harry held his wand close to his chest – praying he wouldn't be forced to use it. His disposition to violence was hardly the problem. If he got into a firefight, he would be hopelessly outmatched. The man he sought had been facing down the most deadly of international criminals longer than Harry had been alive. Harry swore under his breath. It had taken him three days for him to find the target.

_Well done Harry. Your stupidity followed you to France._

The alleys were relatively deserted. The maelstrom raining down on the city made had sent its residents scurrying for cover. It seemed to Harry as if he was the only man in Paris. It was quite a romantic thought, he mused. The task at hand was getting out of control. He had a target and he couldn't afford to lose him now. Harry desperately racked his mind. He knew the target had passed by this way. He began waving his wand.

"I hope this works," Harry murmured to himself. Entirely unsure of himself and his proficiency in this advanced spell, Harry jabbed his wand at a nearby lamppost and whispered some words.

To his eternal relief, the lamppost shrunk and continued to shrink until it stood lower than Harry's knee. It then expanded, its texture changing in unimaginable ways. Soon the transformation stood complete but Harry mournfully looked at his creation with two parts pity and one part anger. A horrifyingly pale and mangled creature was lying at his feet, unmoving as if dead.

Harry swore – the situation become ever more desperate. He had never been great at Transfiguration. But then, what had he been great at? He had once thought himself talented in Defense Against the Dark Arts. But no sooner had he been tested by Tonks, than Harry painfully realized that his studies were trivial and academic. He tried again. Another lamppost shrunk. The result was a skinny hairless abomination of a dog. But he had eyes, a nose, and hopefully, a working doggy brain. It would have to do. Harry willed it with the magic imbued in the mangy beast. It darted off quickly – its nose, or the sorry excuse for one, planted firmly to the ground. Harry cursed – the intricacies of controlling an animate transformation were lost on him. But at least he was on to something. He chased after his Frankenstein-esque creature. He was led through a maze of alleys, slipping often on the wet pavement.

_Great I've lost the target and now I've about lost my own fucking dog._

Down the straightway, then turning down narrow abandoned streets and lowly lit avenues. His dog began to squeal – he supposed it a normal transfiguration should have been barking. He ran as if his life was in the balance – it just may have been. Harry could not lose him. Dark empty alleys stared at him with their black maws as if laughing at the horribly foolish boy before them. Harry spun, turned again and rounded the corner. His foot connected with the creature. Again, Harry was reminded that a more competent transfiguration than his, would have held up against the small physical blow. His own, however, broke beneath his foot and immediately reverted to a lamppost, now lying broken on the ground. But Harry paid no attention. He stared ahead of him – the lights of the interior shone out brightly, both hospitable and unwelcoming all the same. He had found it. And his chase through the rain with a stupid dog had been worth it.

A bar. _At last_.

_Thank god._

_Time for a drink._

Hours later, Harry clutched a watered down pint of cheap beer. Many empty pints laid strewn messily across the wooden table. Spilt liquid was adding to the veneer of the alcoholic staining on the table. Opposite him in the booth was a handsome black man, Aloysius he called himself – eyes glazed over in a drunken stupor. He was muttering things to himself, before occasionally yelling out the odd obscenity and cackling to himself. Despite the lunacy of it all, Harry almost had the mind to join in. He shook his head again and peered into his half empty pint. He probably had had too much to drink. He looked at the other empty bottles.

_Yes. Definitely too much. Focus now…focus! I didn't come here to get drunk…or…uh…_

Harry shook his head again and subtly centered his vision on a trio of men, sitting three booths down and angled towards Harry so he had a clear view. Their faces were decidedly grim and one looked particularly reproachful. The one with the sourest face was tinkering with a small silver token – round like a coin, though hardly acceptable legal tender. It was emblazed with a small bird and the man would flick it in the air on occasion when the conversation seemed particularly morose. They spoke so quickly and softly that their voices could not be heard over the ruckus of the tavern scene before them. It was happy hour and the gents and miscreants were out in full force tonight. In front of him, his companion snorted loudly and began to hit on a nearby waitress between fits of hiccups. She gave him a rueful glare and made a beeline to the bartender to have some words. Harry grinned stupidly then returned to his study.

_Just a little more. Focus. Don't get drunk now._

Harry tipped his pint and emptied the rest of its contents down his throat. His face cringed at the alcohol and Aloysius roared in a mockery of laughter. In Harry's defense, he had only started drinking three days ago – and only because he had been forced. Trying to look the part of a man indignant of his ability to hold alcohol, Harry slurred out an obscenity and slammed the empty mug hard on the table – harder than he expected. It bounced off the wooden floor and out of Harry's grip before crashing on the floor next to another table. Harry's companion doubled over in laughter.

With that, the owners of the establishment had finally had enough. A large bald man with thick arms and a dumb look on his face approached them. He laid a gigantic hand gently but firmly on Harry's shoulder. Harry looked up at the man in a haze. He realized it wouldn't take much to set the stupid brute into a rage.

"Time to go, sir," he spoke in a very thick accent.

"Hey, hey, hey…" Harry's dark companion adjusted himself from being half sprawled over the table. "Jus' enjoying some drinks here, pal."

"You've had enough now."

"_Mes affaires font mal au cul!"_

At that the large man grabbed Harry and Aloysius up by their arms. Harry watched as his friend's legs barely were able to hold him up and he leaned undignified, against the large man who was escorting them off the premises. Harry followed slowly, trying to keep his pace balanced and steady.

_Just walk. All there is to it. One step, then another. So far so good…shit!_

At that moment, Harry tripped in spectacular fashion, spun off balance and toppled backwards into the booth of the trio of ill-favored men. Their sparse drinks went up in the air and there was a great deal of laughter from the rest of the tavern. The booth however, was filled with cursing and threatening roars. Harry hazily looked up and saw the ceiling, and then the enraged faces of three dangerous men. One of them raised his fist and landed a solid blow across the top of Harry's head. Another one followed and then another. The other two seemed to abstain from this barrage of punches. On the third punch, Aloysius had found the lucidity and balance to push away the bouncer and come to Harry's aid like some champion knight out of old times.

He tripped and fell.

But he was at such momentum that his tumbling form carried him forward and his head smashed against the head of Harry's attacker. There were more roars of anger and now all three men were involved. One of them jumped over the man holding his head in pain. He began to kick Harry's companion on the ground before the third man tore his eyes from the scene and roughly grabbed Harry and threw him like a child out of the booth. Harry smashed into another table and more laughter and threats were about them. The crowd was loving this. The owners however, were not as entertained.

The ruckus lasted for more than ten minutes. In that time, Harry and his friend had been thrown out onto the street and had been beaten quite brutally in a forgotten alleyway. There they were now, slightly drunk and rolling on the cold poorly paved road in pain. Harry coughed and sputtered, some idle blood dripping from his nose and a mighty bruise on his face that threatened to close his eye. From what he could see, his companion had nothing to damage his handsome face. Truer still, his friend seemed to stand up immediately, sway and fall over again.

"Told you," slurred Harry's friend. "The key…or thingy…no…the key is to get drunk! Then…then you don't feel a thing! Ha ha ha!"

Harry merely groaned in pain and tried to bring himself to his feet. "This…this has got to be…the last time I get the shit kicked out of me."

The alcohol had not left Harry's system either and he swayed for a moment. The blows to the head on top of the alcohol left much to be desired from Harry's coordinative faculties. Shaking his head only seemed to aggravate the welts and throbbing hurts.

"Well?" asked Aloysius.

Harry managed to crack a smile. He took out the small silver coin, emblazed with a bird. "Switched it when I fell."

Presently there was nothing left to be done. So they began to laugh, laughing nonsense at situations that only the inebriated could find amusement in.

Soon, after some poorly worded requests for directions and a taxi driver who seemed to judge Harry every step of the way, Harry Potter wrenched open the door to his 10 Euro a day room. The room Harry had holed up in was a dank and dingy. Lights that were on their last leg were flickering restlessly and the low ceiling with its cracks and unappealing yellowish stains, threatened to cave in on him. Even the lackluster living conditions of the Dursleys had never come anywhere close to this pigsty. However this was what a pathetic 10 Euro a night got him.

On his first day in Paris, journey here was perhaps the most anxiety-inducing and panic filled day he had experienced. He had fumbled around the streets using the seven or so French words he knew. Harry regretted now not heeding Hermione's offers to learn some French. He had been bombarded in the foreign ways of the French. It left him disorientated and already missing home – wherever that was. He had held his guidebook to his body like a lifeline, finally settling on a seedy suburb in the east of Paris, outside the Peripherique where within dwelt the recommended places of accommodation. Dark, seedy and unseen suited Harry's purposes just fine.

The night had now grown old and Harry fought off exhaustion – easily helped by the dismal state and smell of the old mattress. He began to empty his pockets – a task which ended up taking several minutes. Finally assembled before him, he took stock of his goods. A basic Auror handbook, one hour's worth of Polyjuice and other odd potions. There was also a shrunken book on international magical travel, a hefty bag of gold and Euros, and several small gizmos that Harry hadn't the mind to understand or the courage to fiddle with.

Harry sat on the bed, which sunk a few more inches than he had hoped. He cupped his head in his hands and closed his eyes. Here he was…in Paris of all places. He was not running any more. But nor did he intend to confront his enemies head on. This would require subtlety, cleverness and of course a cauldron full of luck. _Find the Triads. Take them down_. Harry still wasn't sure how he was going to do either. Even mentioning the Triads could cause alarm in certain unwanted circles of people. Though there was one glad piece of news that eased his nerves significantly. The Boy-who-lived, or _le survivant_ as it were, was nothing more than a name to the common French magical world. They didn't have any face associated with Harry Potter. His popularity in Britain apparently fell off on the other side of the channel. If he took careful care to conceal his scar, he could – although quite riskily – move about magical Paris unnoticed. But Harry's face certainly would not go unnoticed to the Triads. And a foreigner raising questions about the Triads would stay anonymous for long.

_Constant vigilance_ he reminded himself. There were eyes everywhere, ears everywhere. Harry had often needed to remind himself that this was exactly where the note had told him not to go. He had been in Paris little over a week. He had met the strangely charming Aloysius on his second day. And he'd been getting the shit kicked out of him ever since. He stretched his bruised body and sighed greatly. The night's affairs had left him weary but excited – so much so that the danger and eagerness joined forces to keep in from sleep for a moment longer.

He gazed solemnly at the silver coin now laid on the desk. He fiddled it with a moment. It had taken three ass-kickings around seedy Parisian establishments, two bar-fights, an uncounted number of bruises and several pints of beer to attain this small ugly silver coin. _Lets hope its worth it Harry._

He took out his wand, the solid smoothed oak. In the time that he had been to Paris he had only dared use it twice. Once to put up some rudimentary protective enchantments about his room, and the other to first duplicate his right ear and then transfigure it into the small silver coin he had swapped at the bar. It had been a long torturous night that followed – where in the twilight, Harry sat at the windowsill, expecting at any moment, for authorities to have tracked him with the Trace. In the end, they had not come and Harry had lost nothing but sleep.

It was times such as these where Harry missed Tonks the most. He had heard nothing of the fiery Auror since their parting at Quantus International. He suspected the worst. He had always assumed Tonks would have a plan on what was to be done if they truly had managed to escape the country together. Now she was lost – maybe in Ministry custody, maybe in Azkaban or maybe even dead – but in each case, she could no longer help him.

Harry mused that the old him of two weeks ago would feel hurt, betrayed and angry at Tonks for proclaiming that they were in this together, only to part indefinitely. That bitter part of him no longer existed and Harry knew exactly who was responsible. He was here, she was somewhere else. If she was out of the picture, Harry would have to go on.

_Go on. That's all it is. That's all I ever need to know. Go on. I can do that. Go on._

Here in this strange country with a strange language, Harry Potter was nobody – no, he was less than nobody. He was an invisible criminal on the run from his own government, crazed foreign wizards and dark henchmen of a lifelong mortal enemy. As Tonks would undoubtedly say – _boo fucking hoo. _Tonks didn't give a shit about what he deserved. He needed that brutally honest ass kicking more than ever now. She'd trusted him enough to send him across the channel on his lonesome. He couldn't let her down. He couldn't let himself down. Harry determinedly got back to work. He raised his wand to his ear and a green light shot out into his ear canal.

"_Chaque mois c'est toujours la meme cas. Ces vermines qui souhaitent leurs chances à attraper un pixie c'est meilleur que tous les gens passé."_

Harry smiled despite the fact that he still could not understand what was being said. The realization that he had at long last, successfully eavesdropped on this man was a joyous moment of progress for the soon to be fifteen year old criminal. He then flicked his wand at the idle Quick Quotes Quill. It sprang to life and immediately began writing while the French voices in Harry's ear faded away slowly.

"Get to work. Translate important points only," Harry instructed aloud.

The quill scribbled furiously against the parchment. It would be at this all night. Harry grinned widely. Even the smelly mattress and the promise of a nasty hangover would not dampen his senses. The slow victory was sweet in Harry's mind but soon the long night and the alcohol began to muddle his collected thoughts. The dull threat of an incoming migraine drove Harry into the dirty mattress and into a rewarding slumber.

* * *

The mediator tapped her foot incessantly. She was expecting a call – one she dreaded would be just as furious as the dragons encircling her mind. Any second now, the pale gleam of the mirror would betray her to a face of a heartless killer. She thought about leaving. The lone thought occupied her every waking moment. But she couldn't. Not while they still held the trump card. A lesser thought went to Harry Potter – the poor boy now a victim of the Triads pursuits. And now he had surprised them all and had managed to elude the authorities despite the odds and had gotten out of Britain. The containment was broken and the mediator knew that on the other side of the mirror, the Triads were scrambling for new plans.

"HE ESCAPED!" bellowed the mirror so loudly and suddenly she nearly dropped it.

"I-I've compiled a list of likely places he-"

"Are you listening to me? _He escaped!_ Under our fucking noses! We took away his allies, his friends, his gold and made him a goddamn criminal! And he _still_ managed to get away from us!"

The mirror vibrated with the volume of Wei's rage – so far reaching across distances that the mediator felt it as if it was right before her. But this still was nothing compared to what he could unleash. She hesitated to speak again, knowing it would take only a slight error on her part to set him loose entirely.

"I…I did all you asked of me," she spoke steadily. "I must have broken dozens of laws just to make sure you got what you wanted. "I paid off Winzengamot, falsified the Brussels transactions, dealt with London Gringotts…"

"And where the fuck were you when Harry Potter escaped!" Wei roared. "You had contacts in Department of Magical Transportation! You had contacts in the offices of the Chief Warlock and the Minister!"

"Whatever Potter did, he did it without the help of the Ministry," she said quickly with a brush of fear. "My contacts were solid. I'm…I'll get in touch with my person in the British Aurors and find out exactly what happened."

"IT DOESN'T MATTER! He's gone! He could be anywhere now! Anywhere in the world! We just lost Harry Potter and if he's half as smart as he must be to have evaded us all, he'll go to ground. Our chance at ending this quickly just vanished."

The mediator sensed that the hostility and anger was now more focused and personalized than before. She feared what this might mean for her. Surely she hadn't done anything wrong! She'd done all they asked, despite all the moral alarms ringing in her head and weighing down her already heavy consciousness.

"This was not my fault," she stated. Her clear voice did not sway.

"Funny thing." His voice was one step above silence. "We try to take Potter at his house and he was already preparing to flee. You tell us about the boy's abilities but somehow forget to mention that he somehow knows how to apparate. We raid his safehouse on information your contact provided, and it turns out Potter's not there either. A lot of simple things have gone very wrong, wouldn't you say?"

"I hope you don't mean to associate Potter's luck as an indictment against my work," the mediator responded coldly, bearing her teeth for the first time in weeks. "I've done everything you've ever asked to the best of my abilities."

"The best of your abilities are clearly not enough."

She knew that tone. It was different than the rage and the deadly undertones. This tone was cold and detached. She had only heard it once, right when it all began. And now the memory of it brought up the dread deep in her stomach.

"I assure you…I _am_ taking this seriously," she spoke in furtive undertones.

"So are we."

The mediator only now noticed a small box, barren of any wrapping or ornament. Her hands trembled as she removed the lid. She tilted her head and took no more than one second to look before she turned her head away. Tears of anger and madness and pain formed in her eyes and she bottled up the overwhelming desire to scream. But she couldn't show this Wei any more weakness for him to further exploit. She bit down hard on her knuckles and suppressed a harsh cry of hate.

"Do you understand?" he asked her.

"Yes," whispered the mediator. "I understand."

"The International Confederation of Wizards convenes in Prague in nine days. After having failed to contain Potter in the Isles, the British will put forth a motion to form an international taskforce to hunt him down."

She could tell what was coming next. "And?"

"We need the motion to pass. If we're to find Potter again, we need to make it as hard as possible for him to hide, wherever he is. Flush him out and grab him."

The Mediator took another deep breath and responded in a calm tone. "It's a ridiculous motion. They tried the same thing with Sirius Black and failed, I was told – and he was a far greater menace than Potter. There's no precedent for this. It has no chance of being approved. And…and how am I going to force two thirds of some of the most powerful wizards in the world to pass a motion that even I know is dead before it reaches the floor? They're not the weak-minded sort to be charmed by gold or sex."

"You know exactly how," he said. "I don't think I need to remind you that it is in your best interest to do all that you can."

_Fuck you_. But instead of voicing this, she agreed in a steel tone. The moment the reflection of Wei faded into silvery nothingness, she began to curse and screech. And then she began to weep uncontrollably – the sort of weeping that she had long since sworn off. The tears flowed uncontrollably and she hoped all the Triads burned in scorching flames. But should they burn, the best part of her would burn with them. Already the flames were closing in. She could not let that happen. No, the cruel world had trapped her. She would help the devils with their devices and mark herself forever tainted.

And dear Harry Potter would have to burn in their stead.

* * *

In the morning Harry could scarcely remember the feeling of victory the night before. His thoughts were consumed with the pounding of drums against his cranium. He smelled horribly. Rolling out of bed, he took a solid look in the mirror. The swelling at his eye had gone down ever so slightly. But still, the cracked lip, bruised face and dried blood on the crown of his head made him look like the common thug. His head thundered in pain as he received a cold shower. Harry decided it was a miracle that there was even running water in a place like this.

Looking a little less rough, on autopilot, Harry exited the dismal building of his lodging. The natural light of the sun was unbearably bright and the colors were awash with harsh distortions. Harry groaned heavily and continued his journey. A nearby Floo Booth took him to a quaint section of Paris with soft colored awnings stretched over small boutique stores and cafes. It was some surreal thing out of a movie, Harry always thought. At one of the tables, cast in shadow by the large scarlet canopy was Harry's handsome black drinking partner. Harry took the other seat, immediately sinking his head into his hands and grunting half in pain, half in nausea. Aloysius looked amused. A warm loaf of bread and a conservative morsel of cheese was brought to him along with steaming black coffee.

"What I wouldn't do for a whisk of Hangover Potion right now," Harry mumbled.

Aloysius smirked and from the breast pocket of his dark flight jacket drew up a small silver canteen. He poured it into his own coffee and handed it to Harry.

"Oh thank Merlin," Harry sighed gratefully. "You're a lifesaver Aloysius." Harry took the flask and emptied a sizeable portion into his swirling cup of caffeine. Eagerly, he sipped it. It tasted bitter and unwelcoming much like…like rye. Harry paused for a moment the looked up ruefully at his companion.

"This isn't Hangover potion is it?"

Aloysius chuckled and took the canteen back and took a hard swig from it. "The next best thing."

His head was imploding in on itself. Harry sighed and looked at his newly alcoholic coffee. With a surrendering shrug, he drunk deeply.

"That a boy!" exclaimed Aloysius without any real fervor. Harry cringed. His mind was too frail and the day too young for such volume.

"Your little bug work?" he asked Harry casually.

Harry nodded. "The Quill's been writing nonstop. Places, deliveries, people in the underground…"

"And to think six days ago you were waltzing into bars asking blatant questions about the Triads and getting the shit kicked out of you!" Aloysius mocked.

"I'm still doing that," Harry muttered, irritated.

"Remember, when you get caught and are one syllable away from going kaput, try not to mention me," Aloysius spoke but he did not seem to care either way. "It'd be a shame to be pinned for spying on Arthur Levasque."

"Mention you? I've only a first name to go by!" Harry replied, slightly annoyed.

"And how many people are there in Paris named Aloysius?"

"Probably loads if you started referring to yourself as Louis like everyone else!" Harry shot back.

"Aloysius," Harry's companion stated flatly and it was a surprisingly final tone. "My name is Aloysius."

Harry let it be. For an odd reason beyond him, any talk about Aloysius' more personal affairs made him recluse and rigid to inspection. It was one of the many oddities that Harry had come to know of the dashing black man. He had made no attempt to hide his natural Spanish accent but he had never told Harry anything else beyond that. In line with Aloysius' strange persistence on his formal name, his esotericism extended to his eating habits. He always had breakfast at this café, in the 16th district of Paris. From their angle, there was a clear line of sight between buildings, to the looming wonder of Le Bois de Boulogne – a vast area of uninhabited forestation and wildlife. Muggles called it a public park but magicians knew it better. To them, it was a prison. And a death wish. Harry recalled the warning in his guidebook about this enigmatic location.

_Unsafe areas of travel_

_Le Bois de Boulogne is one of the few remaining colonies of pixies left in Europe. While normally gentle, years of abuse by scores of Parisien delinquents has left the pixies extraordinarily hostile and dangerous to anyone with a magical signature. While docile and undetectable to Muggles, the pixie is extremely dangerous to those it detects to be magicians. For this reason, we deem Le Bois de Boulogne and the immediate area unsafe for travel. Tourists are strongly advised to forgo this small perilous corner of Paris and continue their travels elsewhere._

Everyday, Aloysius had breakfast at daybreak at this café and looked towards Le Bois de Boulogne in fanciful fashion. It was an allure, that Harry admitted, was a mysterious attraction – the dangerous sacred forestry where now lurked some of the wisest and rarest magical creatures in the world. And for all this, Harry knew exactly why Aloysius chose to start his days staring at the dangerous of the woods. He was a pixie hunter. Beyond that, he had divulged little to Harry, only that he sought the pixies with a great, almost fervent desire – which seemed to be at odds with everything else in his character. And he had been willing to lend out his services and expertise of Paris for a price.

"Tit."

Harry jerked his head up. "Wha'?"

Aloysius held out his hand expectantly. "Tit."

Harry was not above embarrassment as he looked around for anyone unfortunate enough to overhear this. "Right here?"

"Tit."

They shared a very odd look. Harry sighed and plunged his hand into his pocket and retrieved several small jars wherein laid strange powders, roots and a thick off-putting sludge of unmentionable origins. He pushed them across the table to Aloysius.

"For tat," Harry finished.

Harry had often wondered about this Aloysius character. But his own immediate problems dissuaded him from looking too deeply into the affairs of his only pseudo ally in the country. Aloysius' eyes were torn away from the woods and looked back at Harry's assortment of gifts. Quickly, before the eyes of any nosey bystander caught sight, Aloysius tucked the jars away into his own jacket and winked at Harry.

"Yes," Aloysius seemed excited for once. Harry had hardly ever see him express emotions beyond jovial inebriation, or detached lackadaisical peculiarity. "This should be enough for a couple hours."

"Have you actually ever made Polyjuice before?" Harry asked him.

"Potion-making is dead simple. Instructions are all right there for you."

"Maybe," Harry reproached with doubt. "But if you're going to impersonate a senior official in the French Bureau and break into one of its most secure units, it might be a good idea to have a test batch."

"I ain't pushing my luck," Aloysius murmured, unconvinced. "Bloody ingredient controls. Even the small amount that we both bought separately could have been enough to make someone suspicious."

"So are we square?"

"Consider your tab clear."

"Good then I need another favor," Harry spoke quickly. "But remember, I'm not breaking into the Bureau with you."

"And I'm not dueling the Triads with you." The remark made Harry feel particularly stupid.

"So what's the favor?"

"Levasque is one of the top runners in Paris," Harry stated. "Meaning every little bit of information I'm recording from him is about the criminals he's passing messages between. The Triads top the list of deadly criminals I'd say. They're bound to turn up eventually."

"If you're lucky it's tomorrow."

"And if I'm not, it's in a year." Aloysius' gaze was already straying back to the woods. Harry's confidence took a dive – it had felt like a guilty pleasure to go on with these plans – though Aloysius was never a man to have a vested interest in anything. "I'm not waiting for the Triads to randomly come up in conversation. You'll meet with Levasque tomorrow and tell him exactly what I'm about to say: 'I have information on the one you are after'. Tell Levasque to send the message to the Triads. Don't worry if he claims ignorance – that message will get to them one way or another. And we'll be tracking it all the way.

"Seems easy enough. So why don't you do it?"

Aloysius could have been misunderstood as being flamboyant, but Harry knew him better. The man didn't seem to give a damn. Apparently that kind of disposition came with some calculated rose-colored lenses about the world he did not partake in. Harry held his breath and sucked on his teeth for a moment, trying to form a response. He was unsure about everything about this Aloysius character – except for the fact that Harry knew for a fact that he did not trust him. It was also for this reason that Harry neglected to tell Aloysius of his own last vial of Polyjuice. His handsome friend was languid but not stupid. He had asked the painfully obvious question, which warranted a better answer than Harry was prepared to give.

The idea of showing his face to a man who reportedly frequented meetings with the Triads, terrified Harry. The lone reason Harry could attribute to his present safety was that the Triads did not know he was here. Should he engage with Levasque, his anonymity may well have been forfeited.

"Alright alright," sighed Aloysius. "Don't give yourself a brain hernia – I don't really care that much. If you want to give away a favor, by all means, be my guest."

Harry sighed in relief. And so returned the relationship always replete in pragmatic function. "Tit for tat?"

"Tit for tat."

* * *

He saw before him, the sprawling city of Shanghai. It was the pinnacle of magical society – the very breadth of it made him weak at the knees even after sixty years of seeing it. Gentle oaked buildings peaked in scarlet tops underneath an orange sky. Dawn was breaking and from his terrace overlooking the harbor, he felt the early westerly breeze kiss his bare skin, scarred and wrinkled with the practice and memories of violence, crime and age. The cracked skin near his hands felt rewarded by the cool morning wind. A sweet melody lured him away from the balcony and the magnanimous sight, back into the palace of a building. The blood red pillars soared high and proud were the marbled tiles about his bare feet. He took a seat at the circular table. Moments later, a bald man entered and took their places beside him.

"Word from the mediator?" he asked.

The bald man nodded solemnly. "Harry Potter has fled the British Isles. To where he went, we do not know."

"Wei has failed us," he stated. "His rampage has left us in a precarious situation with Chang. Neither he nor the mediator seem to be able able to control Wei."

"Wei was a dog we should have put down long ago," said the other. "He had a violent disposition straying into psychopathic tendencies. I wonder when he decides to try and burn all of London down in retribution. And because of him, they are breathing down our necks. "

"We will find the boy again," he said confidently.

"And how long will that take?" exclaimed the other in supreme exasperation. "He has the whole world to hide in! It may take years! Decades!"

"If it takes decades, then we will search for decades," he declared. "All other pieces have been set. I have waited such a long time. A few years, or even tens of years, shall not be unto me, a cataclysmic delay. I do not care how long it takes."

"There are others who do," came the insistent reply.

There was another melody that pierced the hall. It was more urgent and less pretty than before as if the lay had become a lament, day into night and stars into darkness. He found this unbearably sad and his thoughts turned towards the injustices just beyond his chamber walls.

"We have news. There are rumored sightings of the Thief."

"He's here?"

A head shook. "Hong Kong. The reports are dicey at best and the West always has had a penchant for mirages – it's too early to confirm. But if the rumors are true, he's headed our way."

"So he's managed to find a way into the most guarded nation in the world – twice," murmured he. "He may be a larger problem than we realized."

He stopped to think. A particularly harsh string of chords came from behind the walls. The harshness gave him resolve in dark ways he'd like to forget. He turned to his partner with steely eyes.

"But this problem like all problems, has a solution. He is strong and resourceful. But he is a man. One man cannot stop the future – he cannot stop us. For I have gathered the flames about me. His wicked hand cannot idly pass through. The Thief comes with faux justice on his mind, but he has also brought us a gift – the chance to reclaim what he stole, all those years ago. If he confronts us, he will burn."

The bald man ran a nervous hand down his neck. Another uncomely lament pierced their conversation. He saw the bald man look back to the door, suddenly.

"What was that?"

"Nothing to worry over," he replied coolly. "Just a temporary situation. It'll be moved to Fushan tomorrow."

The bald man started hesitantly. "Your experiment in Fushan. I haven't asked because I don't want to know. Still…is there anything I should know about?"

The question hung loose in the air. He grimaced. "A pet project of mind – nothing more. I do it on my own time with my own resources. No more important to us than your brothels in Nanjing."

He ended the conversation abruptly. His partner left without another word. He walked back out to the terrace. The sun was climbing and wispy weak clouds, the remnants of night's hold, were beaten and banished away by the heat and immensity of the rising sun. The city now bathed in gold. Rays like the tongues of flames, licked at the city, growing in size and passion until the shadows became small and cowered away. Like a divine veil, it fell, like a wave, towards him – a straight-way skyline edging towards him like the falling golden curtains of the world. It reached him and blanketed him. He could feel its heat. He could feel its intensity. He looked again at the city – glistening with the light of day and sparkle of sea. Its reach and breadth were unfathomable. But the reach of the Triads had long since found masterful range. They had conquered all the earth. Compared to the world, one boy was nothing. But all the same…he was worth more than every other thing on the planet.

The world was too small a place for Harry Potter to hide.

* * *

Dark ebony doors laid before Severus Snape. Its engravings were viciously jagged and daunting. The sky above was strewn with dark clouds that cut short the day and brought an early twilight to the mansion in Northern Ireland. Snape limped forward. Burns still covered the greater part of the left side of his body. His hair had loosely grown back but every motion was still a pain. Snape dragged his left leg behind him as he reached the gate. Stooping low, he pushed up the sleeve of his robes and pressed his forearm against the cold bare gate. It seared and burned him before the gates opened before him and Snape walked into the lair of darkness.

There were many hallways, emptying to great high-ceilinged rooms expected of tenants of such stature and prestige. All were dimly lit with hauntingly green-licked flames and pale white lights, dancing about the floor like little snowflakes who had forgotten to melt. There were more gates, and more times Snape had to bear the burn in his forearm before continuing forth. At last he found the great chamber and before it was a snake – larger than any others with venom in its glare as much as its bite. An unholy pseudo scion of the wretched Basilisk creature. It gave Snape the chills as it hissed violently. Snape cautiously stepped over it and prayed it would not sense his fear.

The doors before him opened and he entered the chamber, already filled with innumerable guests. They were hushed in conversation before they spotted Snape – his heavy bandages visible even underneath the robes. They jeered at him as the Potions master approached the head of the table. Looks of smugness and arrogance were shot about the room – the Dark Lord's favorite had fallen on some unfortunate times.

"Enough!" came the absolute thundering cry and none were strong enough to resist the command. They fell into silence and Snape looked up at the haunting image of a snake-faced man with slits for eyes and the cruelest of gazes. Lord Voldemort had never appeared so absolutely…present.

"My Lord," Snape grimaced as he bowed low. To his relief, his master beckoned him to sit.

"It is good to see you Severus," spoke Voldemort – the jeer in his tone had not been masked. "I haven't heard from you in such a long time. Many of us here thought maybe you might had turned."

There were more laughs behind Snape. "Never!" he insisted viciously. "My…my injuries…it has been a long ongoing recovery."

"Do tell."

Snape swallowed. "I…I assume you know most of it by now…according to my source, a senior official attached to the Minister's office sent a pair of Dementors after Harry Potter about three weeks ago. The boy fought them off but then…he was attacked."

"A new party?"

Snape shook his head and feared retribution. "The Triads."

"We put that affair behind us months ago!" roared the Death Eater Yaxley. He was sent cowering into muteness by his master's intent.

Snape continued in a film of sweat. "They attacked him in the street, in his home, in the air and then finally at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix – where the boy sought refuge. They casted some devil's enchantment. It destroyed most of the area in little over a second. I can confirm many members of the Order of the Phoenix are dead. I'm bound by oath and cannot say who – however as they are not members, I can say that the Weasley children have all perished. I escaped right before the blast – the Floo network collapsed on me as I was inflight."

A laugh of vicious glee went into the air. Several quips of bloodtraitors were thrown, though the laugh of Lucius Malfoy was louder than them all. Snape sometimes wondered how genuine it all was.

"He fled the country after being chased by Aurors," Snape continued. "The Order has been infiltrated by the Triads – Harry Potter can no longer rely on them. Not even Dumbledore and his allies know why the Triads are after him. For Potter's part he's being aided by junior Auror Nymphadora Tonks."

"The Metamorphmagus in Dumbledore's service!" snarled the elder Nott. "Can we find her blood traitor mother?"

Snape shook his head. "The Order has sent her across the Atlantic for her protection. More importantly, no one knows where Potter is now. He lost the Aurors in the international Portkey chambers. Scrimgeour himself pursued, and he still hasn't been found."

"The Triads are after Harry Potter," Voldemort whispered in a deadly silence. More to himself than others, Death Eaters around him shivered.

There was a bone-chilling fright as if the Dark Lord was almost shaking in fury. However, there was something else that Snape sensed from the Dark Lord. Anger, of course, there was to spare but there was some strange undertone…nervousness? Uncertainty? Snape could not fathom the origins of either Voldemort's ire or his anxiety and he tried to stay away from the erratic and violent lashes of Voldemort's rising rage. None had seen the Dark Lord in such a state since Potter had managed to slink away from the Graveyard. Now, many began to tremble before the might and unmitigated furiousness of their lord.

"Let them have the boy," called one of the Carrows, obliviously. "They'll deal with him for us."

"HE IS NOT THEIRS TO TAKE!"

Voldemort's bellow was followed by the agonizing whimpering of Alecto Carrow, her body spent under the Cruciatus curse. However, the ire of Voldemort seemed all the more terrifying. There was a tempered quietness as these loyal Death Eaters waited on their master in trepidation. He looked up at them with an inscrutable gaze.

"Lucius, accelerate your plans – by the end of the week."

Upright at once, stood one Lucius Malfoy – his sparkling white blonde hair betrayed signs of greying. He was now by far the most powerful man in the room but before Voldemort he was simply another minion. The new Chief Warlock bowed low.

Lucius Malfoy looked aghast but Voldemort had already stood and made for the door. "Severus! Come."

Snape stood up awkwardly and struggled to keep up with Voldemort's protracted pace, fueled by fury and something far beyond Snape's understanding. Lucius had the wisdom not to challenge his master on the insanity of his order. They walked in a grueling silence save for the deliberate echoes of their footsteps down the hall.

"Forgive me, my Lord. But I do not understand."

"You think it's pride, do you?" sneered Voldemort, not bothering to turn. "You think I am undone by petty hubris that I should risk well laid plans to sate this vanity and kill the boy myself?"

Snape fell silent and did not respond – Voldemort's motives had gone beyond Severus' ability to comprehend them. There were strangled cries to the room on his left. The Dark Lord did not miss a step as he strode past. Snape hesitated for a moment and peered inside – recoiling immediately. Inside were a handful of the most dilapidated and emaciated people Snape had ever seen. They seemed more akin to the inmates of Azkaban than the folk of the living world. He suppressed a shudder and followed the Dark Lord.

They descended to the basement – it was noticeably grimmer. The dark sleek polish of the walls became impossibly darker and the smooth wooden finish became less refined. They continued to descend the steps of the mansion until they reached a point where the mirage of extravagance failed. Clearly this was not a floor to house treasured guests. Voldemort barely moved his wand and a giant wooden door was flung open loudly. Behind stood the alarmed and terrified face of Peter Pettigrew. He audibly whimpered at the sight of his master, in all his anger, descending on him. The shriveled husk of a man – face permanently etched between terror and loathing – shrunk even further. Every time he saw him, Snape thought Pettigrew looked less and less a man.

"The potion," whispered Voldemort. "The guide you were given to create it – give it to me Wormtail."

Wormtail quivered and his lip trembled. The moment of hesitation was enough for Voldemort's short fuse to at last, light properly. A low hanging painting, the lone adornment in Wormtail's shabby room, exploded, shards of the metallic frame and ripped paper flying in the air. Voldemort's eyes never left that of his terrified lackey.

"NOW WORMTAIL!" he roared. "I'll deal with your incompetence and stupidity at a later date!"

No more than a second after a shaky hand had handed Voldemort the heavy book, the Dark Lord snorted at Wormtail in disgust and turned on his heels. Snape did not spare Pettigrew a second glance. They ascended the stairs and came to stop in front of a grand study that had been appropriated into an impressive laboratory. Vials, arcane liquids and harsh ingredients were hovering above their heads, waiting to be called upon. Snape caught the heavy book that was thrown with some force at him. Voldemort had never seemed more menacing or explosive than this day.

"You will concoct the potion exactly as is described in the book," Voldemort stated venomously. "You will report to me the functions of _every_ ingredient, and of the sum of its parts. Know that if you are lying to me or if you miss _anything_, I will show you pain worse than any you could imagine. A thousand curses will not compare with what I shall do to you if you fail me, Severus."

Snape's brow was crunched in fear and apprehension. He gazed at the first page of the tome.

"Bone of the father…unknowingly given…you will renew your son?" Sweat ran down the Potion master's back and he swallowed hard. "If…if the Triads want to kill Potter, why don't we let them?"

Snape saw his master staring at him through the black-arched doorway with rage bordering untold madness. He stared a hateful glare that far outweighed any confusion Snape might have had about the situation. Before the door was slammed shut, he heard Voldemort speak once more.

"What makes you think they're trying to kill him?


End file.
